


Déjà vu

by Arrowsboi



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: BAMF Bilbo Baggins, Battle of Five Armies - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Bilbo just wants a cup of tea, Coma Bilbo, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone else knows, F/M, Found Family, I dont know how to tag, Jealous One Ring, Leave me alone I’m new, Legolas is chill, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Bilbo, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Bilbo Baggins, Protective Bilbo Baggins, Slow Burn, Sort Of, The One Ring is A little Shit, Thorin is a Softie, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, but Bilbo will sort it out, for like two seconds, it literally just wants Bilbo to go back to the shire so it can wait for the rise of Sauron in peace, kinda I spose, no beta we die like the line of durin, the One Ring is afraid Bilbo will leave it for the Arkenstone, the One Ring puts Bilbo in a coma where he sees how shit the future is
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2020-10-28 00:24:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 44,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20769452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arrowsboi/pseuds/Arrowsboi
Summary: The One Ring sends Bilbo into a Coma where he sees the outcome of the quest for Erebor. He is released from his sleep when he casts the ring aside once he returns to Bag End. When he returns to the present time he finds himself left behind by the majority of Thorin’s Company, meaning the group that travelled to the mountain went without him. With his new knowledge will Bilbo be able to save his dear friends this time around or will he be forced to witness their untimely ends once again?





	1. Clarity

* * *

Travel weary and emotionally exhausted, Bilbo turns away from Gandalf to begin the last stretch of his journey. 

The world around him seems to grow greener the closer he gets to his destination but Bilbo barely looks up from his feet, his mind still turning the wizards parting words over and over in his head, specifically one part.

_Magic rings are not to be taken lightly._

Of course, Bilbo can sense it’s power but he’s been careful. He only used it when it was truely necessary, and it has been nothing but useful thus far! He really should have kept it on when he was fighting on Raven Hill. Maybe if that awful orc hadn’t seen him and knocked him unconscious, he could have distracted Azog. Maybe Thorin would still be—

Bilbo jolts to a stop, pursing his lips and fighting back the tears which are currently threatening the edges of his vision. On the journey back to the Shire he hadn’t allowed himself to wallow in his grief, as much as he wanted to anyway, but with home on the horizon Bilbo lets the memory of the three dwarrow he holds dearest slip into his mind’s eye.

First, corse and braided blonde hair, plus the short-sword he managed to get a hold of before he left Erebor. Then, a mischievous grin and a quiver full of arrows which weren’t enough in the end. Finally, ice blue eyes and soft spoken farewells fill his head and Bilbo can’t help the sob that escapes him at the thoughts.

** _“Thorin, the sun is up. We’ll have to leave for the boat soon if we want to make it on time.”_ **

** _“I know that, Balin! Just. . . Just give him a bit longer. Óin, what’s wrong with him?”_ **

Bilbo  straightens at the oddly clear voices. He turns in a full circle, which reveals he is alone. A pang of loneliness hits him in the chest and he takes a shuddering breath. It had almost sounded like he was right—

_ **“I’m not sure, laddie. But if he doesn’t wake soon we’ll ‘ave to leave ‘im.”** _

With a determined shake of his head Bilbo starts off once more, wiping the tears from his eyes. He isn’t about to let the ghosts from his past interfere with his homecoming, no matter how real they sound. His mind is clearly making up stories to cope. Well, he is having none of that, thank you very much!

-•-

Bilbo grins as he trudges up the familiar road. Bag End is just around the corner! He nods a greeting to a pair of hobbits he passes, then does a double take upon seeing a rather familiar glory box being carried between them.

“Wait a minute, that’s my mother’s glory box. And that’s my dining chair! Put that poof down! What is going on!.”

His protests fall on deaf ears as he passes more and more of his furniture. Why, it seems like all of Hobbiton decided to show up at his door! Growing more and more aggravated the closer he gets to his house Lobelia Sackville-Baggins happens to tip him over the brink, and he won’t be faulted for the deep satisfaction he feels when her face screws up in outrage at his sharp words.

Silver spoons tucked safely in hand Bilbo pushes his way through the crowd, only to be stopped by the auctioneer. Too angry to fully process any of the conversation, Bilbo gives him his contract and stomps up the steps to his door. However, he finds himself unable to move at the hobbit’s next question.

“Who is this person you pledged your service to? Thorin Oakenshield?”

** _“Thorin, we have to go. We’re already late. I’m sorry but we have no choice.”_ **

_Ice blue eyes and soft spoken farewells._

“He. . . He was my friend.”

Ignoring the huffs of disbelief and annoyance Bilbo slips through his lovely green door and shuts the world out. His tears finally spill over and he drops his possessions at his feet, leaning back against the solid wood. He can hear his fellow citizens murmuring to each other and hopefully leaving. 

** _“. . . Alright. We leave in two minutes! Get your things. Come on, Bilbo. Wake up.”_ **

Bilbo takes a few deep breaths and attempts to push the voices to the back of his mind. He was home now, half a world away from his dwarrow. It won’t do to have them filling his head forever.

** _“Thorin, the company is waiting. You have to leave him.”_ **

** _“We cannot leave him alone. Where’s Bofur?”_ **

** _“Here, sir.”_ **

** _“Will you stay with him? I do not wish for him to be by himself should he wake up.”_ **

** _“Sure thing, your majesty.”_ **

** _“Kíli, you stay too.”_ **

** _“You’re joking.”_ **

** _“You’re wounded. You’ll slow us down.”_ **

** _“No. I’m going to be there when that door is opened, when we first gaze upon the halls of our ancestors, Thorin please—“_ **

** _“Kíli. Stay.”_ **

** _“Then I’m staying too.”_ **

** _“Fíli, dont be foolish. You belong with the company.”_ **

** _“I belong with my brother. Besides, isn’t it better for Bilbo to have more protection?”_ **

Bilbo squeezes his eyes shut then presses his palms to them. This isn’t how that conversation went. His selfish mind is making everything about him. Despite his efforts, the voices continue.

** _“Fine, take care of them. Join us when Kíli is healed and Bilbo wakes.”_ **

** _“I’ll stay too. My duty is with the wounded.”_ **

** _“You have my thanks. Everyone else, lets—“_ **

The conversation abruptly cuts off, and it takes Bilbo a moment to realise his hand had slipped into his pocket to grasp his Ring. He sighs in relief at the sudden quiet; he has more pressing matters to worry about other than his lost friends. Bilbo takes his Ring out and admires it.  _Such a small thing_.  He thinks with a fond smile. 

-•-

After spending the day straightening Bag End up as much as possible, Bilbo slumps onto his bed, which is luckily too large to be moved into his front garden. The last time he had fallen asleep in these sheets it had been to the sound of dwarven song.

He finds his hand once again taking up the Ring,soothing the dull ache in his heart.  _Safe. It’s safe here _his mind supplies.  _We wait here. A good place for waiting._ Bilbo frowns and sits up, suddenly aware that the voice is not his own thoughts. Wait for what? 

_For his call._

Who’s call?

_It’s Master_.

At those words Bilbo gets an immense feeling of dread, though he isn’t sure what he is dreading, and in an act of  impulse hurls the ring at the wall. 

_ **“That was a privilege to witness.”** _

When it lands, the candles glow reflects menacingly off of it, but Bilbo pays the chunk of gold no mind. He looks around with fresh eyes, and finds there’s something. . . Off about everything. _This isn’t real. _

-•-

After a long while, Bilbo stands up and walks over to the corner his Ring landed in. Without touching he bends down to inspect it, imagining the thing to be glaring back at him.

“This isn’t real. What have you done.”

As expected the Ring doesn’t reply, so Bilbo turns away. As he does his head starts spinning and he sways unsteadily. He tries to take the few fumbling steps to his bed, but trips over his big feet. As he falls he is overwhelmingly certain he is going to slip right through the floor boards. Said floor rushes up to meet him and he shuts his eyes.

-•-

With a gasp Bilbo sits up. 

“Master Boggins, you’re awake! We’d almost given you up!”

Corse and braided blonde hair appears in his line of sight, followed by the rest of the dwarf. Fíli smiles widely at the shocked hobbit, oblivious to his surprise.

“Fíli?”

“Now you’re awake so we can go after uncle! The Master of Laketown threw us out as soon as the rest of the company left, so Bard took us in. Also a pack of orcs attacked us but Tauriel and another elf were tracking them so they helped fight them off. The blonde elf ran off after the rest of the pack so I think they’re gone now. Tauriel healed Kíli then said she would try to wake you after she recovered from it, but you woke up by yourself. What happened to you? Too much mead?”

Now that his shock has worn off a bit Bilbo feels his eyes (once again) fill with tears. _He isn’t dead!_ Fíli is fine, and if he is in this good of a mood that must mean Kíli is alright as well. And he had mentioned his uncle! A smile slowly spreads across his face. They are all alive and Bilbo is determined not to let them go, not this time.

“Bilbo? Are you alright? You’re crying.”

With a wet laugh Bilbo flings his arms around the golden-maned dwarfling, pulling him close. 

“My dear Fíli! I’m alright- I’m better than alright! Where’s Kíli?”

“He’s resting in the other bed. What’s gotten into you, Master Boggins? You’re acting as if we died!”

_If only he knew,_ Bilbo thinks to himself. He lets the dwarf go then swings his feet over the edge of the bed. 

The red headed elf he vaguely recognises from the woodland realm looks up from where she is sitting next to the lump of blankets Bilbo assumes is Kíli. Tauriel smiles and he smiles back with a grateful nod, then looks around the rest of the room. Óin seems to be asleep on one side of the table, and on the other Bard’s children are talking quietly to each other. Bard himself and Bofur are nowhere to be seen.

With Fíli’s aid, Bilbo manages to stand up. As he does the door swings open and Bofur saunters in, tucking his pipe into his pocket. At the sight of Bilbo his trademark grin widens even further. 

“Bilbo! I step out for one minute and you come back to the land of the livin’. Did you have a nice nap?”

“Well I bet it was your smoking that roused me. I’ve been craving one myself since I lost my pipe in that damned river.”

Bofur laughs heartily (perhaps a little too hearty with no small amount of relief) and walks over to give him a crushing hug.

“You gave us a right scare. We thought you’d never wake.”

“Bofur. . . I can’t. . . Speak when. . . When I’m stuffed into your. . . Scarf.”

Once his face is no longer smushed into the grotty material he replies.

“Sorry for worrying you all. I had the most realistic. . . Dream.”

Bilbo had no doubt the ring had shown him some sort of vision, but it seemed more than that. He had felt every hardship, every blow. When he had climbed over the wall to deliver the Arkenstone he had felt the rope burn his hands. When he was struck unconscious in battle he had felt the throbbing headache afterwards. When he had grasped Thorin’s hand as he—

Bilbo sniffs. Yes, far too realistic for a dream. A glimpse at the future perhaps?

“Well, you’re awake now! And once the lad is rested we can start after the rest of the company. They must have made it to the door by now!”

At this Bilbo’s heart clenches. Would they be able to get in without him there? He had been the one to wait when they had all given up, after all. If the ring really had been showing him his future then maybe all the dwarves would come right back. Whatever the outcome, the four dwarrow with him would want to catch up with the others before too long. He would rather not wait around himself,eager as he was to see  Thori— _the_ _ Company_.

Bilbo opens his mouth to reply but is cut off by a distant roar.

_Well _ Bilbo thinks. _They_ _ got inside then_.


	2. A Minor Issue

Laketown is ringing with the chiming of warning bells and the shrieks of terrified men when Bilbo slips outside to look at the mountain, followed by Tauriel.

Silhouetted by a golden glow coming from the mountain is a dark shape, which is getting bigger by the second.

“I’ll give you three guesses what that is.” Bilbo mutters darkly.

“It will only take him a matter of minutes to get here. We have to leave now.” Tauriel replies, ignoring his snark.

She turns and strides back inside, Bilbo follows her.

“We have no time, we must leave.”

Fíli attempts to help Kíli up while Bofur grabs the princes’ coats. Kíli shrugs his brother off, but still looks rather unsteady. Bain follows Tauriel as she goes to help Bard’s daughters with preparation. Bilbo rushes forward to steady Kíli when he looks like he is going to fall forward. The dwarfling’s face is tight with pain and Bilbo’s heart clenches. He always has been a bit of a mother hen. He meets Kíli‘s eyes for a moment, asking without actually asking if he is alright. The princeling nods, so Bilbo relinquishes his hold on him.

Bain, who had been arguing with Tauriel, speaks up.

“Da keeps the boat downstairs. Grab anything you can on your way out.”

Bilbo collects sting and his new jacket, then a blanket as an afterthought. Kíli is going to need all the warmth he can get. He rushes down the wooden steps, holding the blanket up so he won’t trip over the trailing ends. Fíli helps him into the boat, then calls for Kíli. Once the group is in he unties the ropes holding the boat to the deck. Bard’s children watch sadly as their house gets further away.

That is of course until they are distracted by the dragon flying over them.

They watch in horror as it turns in a lazy loop back towards the town, chest beginning to glow. Fire bursts from the drake’s mouth, torching a line right through the middle of Laketown. Bilbo thinks the screams will haunt him forever.

Out of nowhere a large boat rams into them, causing their smaller craft to rock violently. Bilbo grips the back of Fíli’s jacket before he can fall into the icy water. He glares daggers at the master of Laketown as he drifts past, ignorant to the lives around him.

Smaug continues to rain fire upon them, and Bilbo can see him preparing a blast they will be caught in.

“We have to find cover!”

Tauriel looks around frantically, then points to their right.

“Under there, quickly.”

They guide the boat until they are tucked under a stilted house, just in time to avoid the flames.

Tauriel looks back over her shoulder and nods at him. Bilbo nods back with a shaky exhale. _That was too close_.

Back in the open again, they keep their eyes peeled for the red beast.

Suddenly Bain gasps.

“Da!”

They all follow his line of sight and watch the archer fire another arrow, Tilda wails from her spot next to Sigrid.

Kíli sits up, yelling, “He hit it! He hit the dragon!”

“No.” Tauriel whispers.

“He did, he hit his mark I saw!”

“His arrows cannot pierce it’s hide. I fear nothing will.”

They all watch grimly as Bard fires arrow after arrow. Bilbo wonders what could change to give the man an advantage, seeing as he does end up slaying the beast.

He isn’t left long to contemplate as Bain suddenly swings off the boat using a crane. Everyone makes a grab for the boy but he manages to avoid them. He ignores their protests.

“Leave him. We cannot go back.”

“_Bain!_” Tilda sobs.

Bilbo watches the boy run across the boardwalks and hopes this is what happened last time, and is not a consequence of him being there.

Tauriel guides them through the waterways, all of them trying not to listen to the terrible threats Smaug is throwing at Bard.

They reach the open water just in time to see Smaug spiral into the sky, screaming in agony. Then, the fire drake is falling. The corpse falls back to land in the wreckage of Laketown.

Kíli let’s out a whoop and Bilbo lets a smile curl his lips as the others join in.

Smaug is dead.

  
-•-

  
Morning finds them preparing to leave for Erebor amid the survivors of Laketown. Tauriel, Sigrid and Tilda are looking for Bard and Bain while the four dwarves are pushing a larger boat into the water. Bilbo is helping sodden men, women and children out of said waters, knowing he won’t be much help to the dwarrow.

He pulls a small boy out from under a plank of wood, then turns in time to see Kíli talking to Tauriel. He watches in amusement as the lovesick dwarfling gazes at the elf maiden.

A blonde elf passes him, obviously heading in the pair’s direction.

Well, Bilbo isn’t having that.

“Excuse me! Legolas, isn’t it? Terribly sorry but could I borrow you for a moment? These planks are rather heavy and I fear I’m not strong enough to lift them, would you help me out?”

Legolas’ good nature wins out and he joins the hobbit in searching for trapped humans. They pull a woman from the waves, then she grips the blonde elf’s arm, telling him of her sister. Legolas follows the woman and Bilbo moves to as well, but is stopped when he hears Fíli call his name.

“Bilbo! Come on let’s go.”

Bilbo takes a step towards the boat (which notably holds a certain red headed elf as well as four dwarrow) but then falters. He looks around at the people of Laketown and knows he can’t leave them yet, no matter who waits for him in the mountain.

“You go, I must stay and help.”

“What are you talking about? The others are waiting for us in Erebor. Bilbo you must come.”

“Fíli, go. I’ll join you once the men have found shelter.”

The blonde prince looks as if he wants to argue some more, but Bofur rests a hand on his shoulder, “let him go lad, he won’t be away long.”

Fíli holds his gaze a bit longer, then relents with a nod.

“Fine, but come as soon as you can. Uncle will want to see you’re alright for himself.”

Bilbo’s heart leaps at the mention of Thorin, but he nods and waves as they leave.

As he stands on the shore and wonders if he made the right choice.

“Tauriel leaves with them. She is rather infatuated with that dwarf isn’t she.”

Bilbo startles at the sudden voice behind him. They are standing on gravel for Eru’s sake! How can someone be so _quiet_?

“Gah! Sweet Yavanna, Legolas! A bit of warning next time please.”

Legolas’ mouth twitches into an almost smile at his reaction, but his eyes remain fixed on the departing boat. Bilbo recognises the look of heartache in his eyes all too well. He reaches out and pats the blonde elf on the arm.

“Yes, I believe she is. I also believe the feeling is mutual. I’m sorry.”

Legolas sighs, then turns to look at him.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. Neither do they. Matters of the heart are out of our control.”

Bilbo smiles, glad the Elven prince isn’t going to hold a grudge. Legolas returns the smile, then starts along the beach.

“Come, master Baggins. We have people to save.”

As Bilbo turns to follow him, he wonders how this change will effect the result of the coming days. Hopefully the she-elf’s presence will be a help rather than a hinderance.

  
-•-

  
As the sun rises in the sky the men of the lake gather to share resources. Bilbo and Legolas wander from one person to the next, helping where they can.

A commotion pulls the attention of most.

“Now gimme that blanket!”

The slimy fellow who stood at the master’s side is struggling with a woman for a blanket. Their yelling echoes through the survivors until all eyes are on them. The man raises his arm as if to strike the woman, and Bilbo feels Legolas reach for an arrow. His efforts are unnecessary however, as a hand grabs the man’s wrist before the blow can fall.

“I wouldn’t go turning on your own Alfrid, not now.”

Bard and Bain emerge from the crowd, combining efforts to put Alfrid on the ground.

“Da!”

Tilda and Sigrid push their way to their father. He hugs them close. Bilbo smiles at the warm scene. After a moment a man steps forward.

“It was Bard! He killed the dragon! I saw it with my own eyes. He brought the beast down, shot him dead with a black arrow!”

The people of Laketown erupt into noise, their cheering punctured by the odd “thank you, Bard!” and the like. Caught up in the moment, Bilbo joins in the cheering, cupping his mouth with his hands.

The noise dies when Alfrid stands up, taking Bard’s arm.

“All hail to the Dragonslayer! All hail King Bard!”

Bard yanks his arm out of Alfrid’s grip, glaring at the slimy fellow. Oblivious to the stares of contempt, he continues, “I have said it many times, this is a man of noble stock. A born leader!”

“Do not call me that. I’m not the master of this town. Where is he? Where’s the master!”

“Halfway down the Arduin with all our gold, I don’t doubt. You would know, you helped him empty the treasury.”

The woman from before directs the last part toward Alfrid.

“No.” The man continues to deny the claims, but his words are lost to the yells of angry fishermen. The crowd gets angrier, and in a desperate move he reaches for Tilda, pulling the child close.

“Think of the children! Will nobody think of the children!”

Tilda kicks him in the shin, the crowd cheering her on. Alfrid is then lost in the crowd, furious people pulling at him. He no doubt would have been killed had Bard not interrupted.

“Let him go! Look around you. Haven’t you not had your fill of death?”

Alfrid tries to stand only to be pushed back to the ground.

“Winter is upon us, we must look to our own and the helpless! Those who can stand tend to the wounded, and those who have strength follow me. We must salvage what we can.”

“What then?”

“We find shelter.”

Once he’s turned away from the survivors Bard walks up the hill towards Legolas and Bilbo, still yelling orders.

“Where will you go?”

“There is only one place.”

Bilbo follows his gaze and finds the Lonely Mountain. A pang of fear hits him then. Last time, Bilbo had almost broken through Thorin’s haze of gold sickness. Only when Dwalin had interrupted them with news of survivors entering Dale had he slipped back into the cold and calculating king he had become. Does Thorin have the Arkenstone? Has he slipped even further into dragon sickness this time without Bilbo there to keep it from him? Have the dwarves and Tauriel arrived at Erebor yet? _Yavanna keep her safe _Bilbo thinks to himself.

“The mountain! You are a genius, Sire. We can take refuge inside the mountain! It might smell a bit of dragon, but the women can clean up. It’ll be safe, warm and dry, full of stores, bedding, clothing! The odd bit of gold.”

Bilbo’s fear is replaced by anger at Alfrid’s words. How does he always manage to be there?

“What good is in that mountain is cursed. We will take only what was promised to us. Only what we need to rebuild our lives.” He finishes by filling Alfrid’s arms with sticks then striding away.

“News of the death of Smaug will have spread to the other lands.”

Bard pauses at Legolas’ words.

“Aye.”

“Others will now look to the mountain for its wealth. . . or its position.”

“What is it that you know?”

Nothing for certain. It’s what I fear may come.”

Bilbo, distracted by thoughts of dwarven kings, speaks up.

“Yes, orcs will attack the mountain in a matter of days. We really should get going.”

At the ensuing silence he turns his gaze from the mountain to find Bard and Legolas looking at him in bemusement. Realising what he said he looks for an escape.

“Right, I’m going to see if I can help anyone. Much to do!”

He darts off before the two can say a word, but Legolas is swift. The elf prince catches up in a matter of minutes.

“Bilbo, what do you know?”

Sighing and running a hand through his rusty curls, Bilbo meets his eyes.

“Any chance of you letting this go?”

Legolas smirks then shakes his head.

“Alright then, come with me. That Alfrid fellow has a habit of showing up at the worst times and I’d rather not have to deal with him.”

Bilbo takes the elf’s arm and pulls him further up the hill.

Once Bilbo finds a place to his liking, he turns to the eager prince.

“You first. You know something as well, and your knowledge might make my explanation easier.”

“Alright. The orc I pursued out of Laketown, I know who he is. Bolg, spawn of Azog the Defiler. A warg pack was waiting for him on the outskirts of Esgaroth. They fled into the North. These wargs were different from the others, they wore a mark I have not seen for a long time. The mark of Gundabad.”

“What’s Gundabad?”

“An orc stronghold in the far north of the Misty Mountains.”

“Well, that must be where he’s heading. Legolas, what I’m going to tell you might not make sense but please, bear with me.”

Bilbo takes a deep breath.

”When I was first in the Misty mountains I came across this,” with that he takes the ring out of his pocket before he can think too much about it, despite the instinctual protests. “When we first arrived at Laketown it sent me into a sleep from which I could not wake. I think I might have seen the future in the place of dreams, however last time _I_ was the one that awakened Smaug. You are right in thinking Bolg is going for reinforcements— they will arrive in two days, towards the end of a rather large battle.” He returns the ring to his pocket.

“Since I’m not there I fear Thorin has the Arkenstone, and may be beyond reasoning. We must go with the men to Dale, they won’t get anywhere near the mountain. I might be able to reason with Thorin if I’m lucky but if things play out like last time we may be in trouble, seeing as his dragon sickness will only worsen thanks to the Arkenstone.”

Throughout his detailing, Legolas’s face goes through a range of emotions. Confusion, recognition, fear, more confusion, then determination.

“If it was indeed a vision of the future, how long do we have until the battle commences?”

“Two nights, tomorrow morning your father will arrive,” Bilbo ignores Legolas’s raised eyebrows “he and Bard will forge an alliance. The first group of orcs—“

“First group?!”

“Yes, lead by Azog. They arrive the next day, just after Dain Ironfoot, then the second group towards the end of the battle.”

“We should tell Bard, or my father.”

“No! We can’t, it might change things too much. I would like to keep this in my control as much as possible, too much has changed already, and there are. . . Certain outcomes I would rather avoid.”

Legolas is silent for a while, observing him curiously. Then he comes to a decision.

“Alright, lets get these people to Dale.”

They head back towards the gathering men, only to be met by an elf on a horse.

The elf and Legolas exchange words, then Legolas looks at Bilbo.

“My father has called for me, he wants me to return at once.”

Bilbo shakes his head, “The people of Laketown are going to need you more.” He leans in close and Legolas meets him in the middle, bending almost in half so Bilbo can whisper to him “Besides, your father arrives at Dale tomorrow, so it can’t be too important.”

Legolas considers for a moment then nods, turning to the waiting elf.

“Tell my father Laketown requires my aid.”

After watching the rider leave he turns back to Bilbo.

“After you, Master Baggins. I do hope you’re right about this.”

They find Legolas’ horse and tie what they can to it. As they take up the rear of the line of people heading north, a deep feeling of foreboding settles in Bilbo’s gut. He will have to play out the next few days very carefully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Legolas, and I feel like he lost his softness in the Hobbit, so now he and Bilbo are friends! :D
> 
> This chapter ended up being just me forcing plot points into conversations. This is where I really start to drift from canon so be warned!


	3. Concerning Thorin Oakenshield

The setting sun casts the ruins of Dale in striking shadow as survivors look for a place to rest.

All around them the people of Laketown react to the city, some gasping in recognition, others crying out in shock at the desolation time has not managed to heal.

Bard urges the group to keep moving up the winding steps of the charred city, until he is interrupted by Alfrid.  _Where does he keep coming from?_ Bilbo wonders in despair.

As Bard disappears after the greasy man Bilbo’s curiosity urges him to see what has Alfrid so worked up.

From his current position he can’t see much of anything really, pressed into Legolas’ back as he is. The elf wears too much leather, in his opinion.

“Stop here. I want to get off.”

“Do you need me to lift you down, Master Hobbit?”

Bilbo is about to tell him exactly where to stick his offer, but then glances at the distance between himself and the ground. 

_Curse it._

“. . . Yes please.”

Legolas laughs as he guides his mount into a side street out of the way of the wandering survivors, but to Bilbo’s relief there are no more remarks regarding his height as the elf gracefully slips off the horse then reaches back up for him.

Feet firmly back on the ground, Bilbo wanders in the direction he last saw Bard while the prince ties his horse up. To his surprise, Legolas follows along after him. Bilbo decides not to question it. 

By the time they find the men on a small bridge between two buildings, Bard is walking away. When he spots them he alters his path, heading their direction instead.

“The braziers are lit. It would seem your dwarves survived, Master Baggins.”

The bowman points at Erebor’s gates. When Bilbo follows the line of his finger he breaths a sigh of relief he didn’t know he had in him. The small part of his mind that had been wondering whether or not the company had  _survived_ without him there is put to rest. He just hopes it’s all of them.

Bard slips past them, no doubt off to find his children. Bilbo takes the place the man vacated at the railing. Movement catches his eye and he focuses on the hole Smaug left in the ramparts. He frowns when he sees the blocks of stone being stacked one upon the other.

“Do you see it too?”

Torn from his hyper focus, Bilbo glances up at the elf to find him watching the front of the mountain as well.

“The company building a wall? Yes, it’s all rather familiar.”

“They did this in your vision?”

“I’m afraid so. This means Thorin has fallen into dragon sickness.”

_At least he’s alive for it to happen._

“Dragon sickness?”

“Didn’t I mention it? Oh well, yes. In my vision the gold corrupted Thorin’s mind until he believed his kin were keeping the Arkenstone from him, he wouldn’t let us rest until the thrice-damned thing was found.”

“And were they?”

“Pardon?”

“Were the dwarrow withholding the stone.”

“Umm, not quite. That was my doing.”

“What? Why.”

“At the time I thought I could give the Arkenstone to your father and Bard then they would trade it for what Thorin owed them. However, with the benefit of hindsight I can see he was too far gone, and my betrayal probably pushed him over the edge.”

Bilbo’s eyes become unfocused and he turns back to the plain that will become a bloodied battlefield in a matter of days. A hand on his shoulder makes him jump.

“To steal from the King Under the Mountain would have required immense courage, no matter if it was real or not. You are a brave creature, Bilbo Baggins.”

Bilbo huffs “Yes well, my ‘bravery’ got me nowhere considering how those I was trying to protect ended up.”

“What do you mean?”

“. . . Never you mind. Now, would you take me to Erebor? If it all works out the same, Bard will be negotiating with Thorin mid-day tomorrow and I want to be there to pop words into that stubborn Dwarf’s ear.”

“And my father arrives in the morning?”

“That’s right. We could see the army he brings from the ramparts.”

“Well, Master Baggins, lets find my-“

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Calling me ‘Master Baggins’ or variations of. I think after half a day of riding with me clinging to your back like a limpet has earned you the right to call me Bilbo.”

“Alright then, _Bilbo. _Let’sfind my horse.”

“As you command, _your Excellence._”

“Don’t start.”

“Whatever do you mean, my Liege?”

“Yes yes, you have proved your point, Bilbo.”

The hobbit’s snickers as he retreats down a staircase.

“Make haste, oh Prince of the Woodland Realm! Let us find your trusty steed.”

“You do realise you need my help to actually  _get on_ the horse, don’t you?”

“Shut up, twiggy.”

“What does that even mean?”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

“What happened to ‘my Liege’?”

“Your snide remarks killed him.”

Legolas lets out a short, startled laugh from behind him, and Bilbo grins despite himself.

-•-

Once again plastered to the back of an elf, Bilbo huffs at his lack of visibility. He can see the bare plains passing quickly on either side but Legolas obscures anything ahead.he supposes it doesn’t really matter anyway, considering the sun has well and truely set. Resigning himself to his fate, he presses his cheek into the wall of leather and cotton that is Legolas, heaving one last dramatic sigh. 

Legolas begins to mutter something that Bilbo first thinks is about his complaining causing him to righteously bristle, but he soon realises he is  talking  to the horse when it slows beneath them.  _Must be an elvish thing_ Bilbo thinks to himself, bitterly considering his own experience with ponies and the like. His stomach flutters with nerves when he realises they must be near the mountain if they’re slowing.

A sudden sharp  _thwink!_ causes their mount to whinny and buck nervously until Legolas soothes her.

“Stay where you are, elf, or the next one goes between your eyes. _One_ of you pointy eared tree-shaggers in my mountain is quite enough. What do you want with the dwarves of Erebor?”

Bilbo rolls his eyes, ignoring the fact his stomach seems quite determined to turn itself inside out at the familiar voice. 

_Thorin._

“Peace, Master Oakenshield. I come at the request of a mutual friend.”

“Is that so. Who would this ‘friend’ be then?”

Seeing his opportunity to interject Bilbo calls “that would be me!” In a completely and absolutely steady voice (that is definitely not a squeak, thank you very much!) as he abandons all notions of pride in his eagerness and _stands_ on the horses back, using Legolas’ shoulders for balance.

There is a chorus of  _Bilbo!s _ from the half-finished ramparts above them, and Bilbo smiles warmly at the assembled company. To him it’s been months since he’s seen them, sans the Laketown bunch, and of course there’s one who  _died_ last time he saw him. 

_Speaking of. . . _

Bilbo makes eye contact with said dwarf, and the air immediately vacates his lungs. Thorin has his hands spread out on the stone in front of him and is leaning forward, torchlight sharpening his features in contrast to his eyes which are clear and soft with relief. A smile is playing at the edges of his mouth and Bilbo wishes he could just float up to meet him.

As it is, he is stuck on this damned horse.

Bilbo swats at Legolas in a decidedly childish way of requesting  _down please,_ and thankfully the elf obliges; not without an unimpressed eyebrow raise though.

After he is set on the ground Bilbo straightens his coat as he mumbles his thanks, grasping at the shreds of his remaining dignity, and takes a few steps forward. Before he gets far he spins back around and addresses his friend again.

“What will you do?”

The elf glances up at the shadowy mountain then back at Dale, which is glowing in various places thanks to multiple torches.

“I will return to the city. Maybe my presence at my fathers side will be beneficial, if the snippets of information you have provided prove true.”

“Alright, stay safe. I suppose I shall see you within the next few days.”

“It is you that will need safety in this mountain, Bilbo. Keep an eye on that King of yours, he might seem well enough, but so did Thror.”

Legolas waits for his nod of acceptance then straightens and makes for his horse. Louder, he says, “Farewell until next time,  _Master Baggins_ rider of barrels . ”

“Farewell yourself, _Master Greenleaf_, son of Thranduil, Prince of the Woodland Realm, master archer of the King’s guard—“

“Fine, you win.”

Bilbo cackles while the elf mounts his horse, then waves him off. Once Legolas disappears into the dark he turns back to the mountain.

In the time it has taken for him to get down and say his goodbyes a ladder has been set against the wall, and a dwarf is waiting for him at the base of it. 

“Who do you think you are, showin’ up this time of night.”

The star shaped hair gives him away, and Bilbo’s smile widens to a grin. 

“Nori!”

In his excitement he launches at the bewildered thief, pulling him down for a hug.

“Easy there, Bilbo, it’s only been a few days!”

Despite his embarrassment, Bilbo keeps grinning as he pulls back.

“That may be so, master dwarf, but in those days you lot managed to survive a fire breathing dragon, so I do believe my relief is warranted.”

“Fair enough.”

His friend then bows mockingly and gestures to the ladder. Bilbo practically slithers up it in his eagerness to see his dwarrow, and is aided by strong arms when he reaches the top. Recognising the tattooed appendages to belong to Dwalin he is quick to wrap his arms around him as well.

“_Mahal_, that’s a death grip if I ever felt one, you’re gonna squeeze all the air out of me! What’s gotten into ya, Master Baggins?”

When Bilbo releases him the tall dwarf turns to the others.

“You’d think the wee thing’s been separated from us for years, the way he’s actin’!”

The company chuckle good naturedly, then move to give him their own greetings. 

They are, however, not fast enough.

Bilbo is abruptly tugged backwards then spun around, coming face to face with a dwarf he never thought he would see again yesterday morning. Before he can say a word Bilbo is pressed into the furred collar of Thorin’s heavy cloak. Thick arms wrap around his shoulders, effectively pinning his arms to his sides. After a moment— a silent one seeing as the company seem just as shocked as he is— Thorin speaks in a low voice that sends a thrill up Bilbo’s spine (not that he will admit  _that_ particular detail out loud).

“You had us worried, Mister Baggins. I didn’t dare to believe my sister-sons when they told me of your recovery. However, seeing you well— or as well as one can be after spending time with an elf, has banished such fears from my mind. Let’s get you inside while the others finish the battlements, you must be tired.”

Bilbo, who has been shocked into stillness until this moment, attempts to gently escape the King’s hold. He is mostly successful, but is only allowed as far as the dwarf’s arms length. He speaks before Thorin’s incredibly blue eyes can steal the words from his throat again.

“I’m sorry for the dramatics, but I’m not quite that easy to get rid of. As for going inside, I think I’ve slept long enough, don’t you? Now, could one of you please explain why you’re blocking the door while the survivors of Laketown are in desperate need of shelter?”

Thorin’s face closes off, and his fingers tighten on his shoulders. Bilbo almost regrets starting this loosing battle. Almost.

“That’s exactly what I’ve been saying! He won’t listen, Bilbo. Don’t bother.”

Leaning to the right to peer around Thorin, Bilbo’s heart swells when he sees Kíli, face scrunched up in spite. From his new position, his eyes flick to the King and he raises an eyebrow.

“Is that so? Well, hopefully he will have the sense to listen to me, considering I’ve spent the last day keeping these people alive to the best of my ability, and I won’t be having them die when a couple coins might be the difference between children eating or starving.”

As he speaks, the hobbit carefully judges Thorin’s reaction. At first, he remains unmoved, but at the mention of Bilbo’s service his gaze slips to the ground.  _Interesting_.  Deciding he needs to get Thorin by himself to get answers, Bilbo let’s out his most convincing yawn. 

“Huh, guess I’m more tired than I thought! Maybe I  _should_ get some rest, will you show me  t he way, Thorin?”

The dwarf nods then strides away, leaving Bilbo to trail after him. As he passes Kíli he places a comforting hand on the dwarfling’s shoulder, leaning in to whisper, “where’s Tauriel? Is she alright?” Kíli nods, but his expression is troubled. 

“She’s fine, but Thorin insists she stay in the quarters given to her. He says he doesn’t trust her not to steal the gems Thranduil wants. Bilbo, I don’t know what to do! It’s like he’s a completely different person!”

Faced with big, sorrowful eyes, Bilbo’s heart never stood a chance.

“Leave it to me, hmm? I’m sure I can get through that thick scull of his, one way or another.”

At the young lad’s small smile Bilbo pats his arm.

“Are you coming, Master Baggins?”

“Yes, of course, I’ll be there in a moment!”

He trots off after Thorin, shooting a wink over his shoulder.  _Time to get things in order_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legolas likes making fun of short people, pass it on.
> 
> I think I’m getting way too self indulgent with this. As you can probably tell I have favourites. Nori will probably pop up a fair bit, as will Fíli and Kíli.


	4. Unraveling

Once Bilbo has caught up with Thorin he wastes no time.

“What are you doing? Fencing yourself in, locking up Tauriel— I think you’re making a mistake, Thorin.”

What he doesn’t say is that he really  knows.

“This does not concern you, halfling.”

“Excuse me? I think you’ll find it does considering I’m to be trapped in this mountain as well, Master Dwarf.”

Once Bilbo would have shied away from the Kings blunt tone, or attempted to apologise. However, after witnessing the outcome of the fast approaching battle first hand, he would not so easily cower. Thorin’s steps falter, then pick up again. The pair turn a corner and the feeling of the company’s eyes on them disappears.

“Nobody is keeping you here. Perhaps you should return to Dale where all the humans are skulking about, if that’s where your loyalties lie.”

A lick of white hot anger sweeps through Bilbo’s insides and he grabs the Dwarf’s wrist, forcing him to spin around and face him. 

“You know very well where my loyalties lie, _Thorin Oakenshield, _and they are not with men, or elves, or even hobbits anymore,” he growls, vaguely thinking of his furniture, “I have followed you and the company halfway across Middle Earth and I will continue to for however long you will allow me, so I will not have you doubting me now, do you hear?”

Thorin’s expression is bewildered and his eyes hold wonder and a small amount of guilt where moments ago there was contempt.

“Now, are you going to give the survivors what you promised them or are you going to let them die.”

Bilbo watches as the King’s pupils dilate, shrinking to pinpricks if black.

“Why should I? Why should I give them anything after they gave us nothing until promised riches? The men of Laketown are nothing but false and greedy, keen to overlook others in their time of need but quick to cry for help when the situation is reversed. They shall receive nothing from us.”

“But you gave your word! And I gave mine! The people of Laketown have nothing because of us. Bard sheltered Kíli while he he healed after the Master cast him aside, yet you will let his people starve? Your nephew was able to get the rest he needed because of him but you will let  _his_ children wait for death in the cold, clutching at their throats for lack of fresh water and stomachs eating themselves away? The Thorin I know wouldn’t hesitate to shelter fauntlings in need!” Bilbo cries.

Thorin looks away, eyes downcast. He turns and Bilbo’s grip on his wrist slips. After a deep inhale Bilbo continues.

“I know you, Thorin, and you’re not acting like yourself. Yes, the Master refused you until you mentioned gold, do you know why? He was obsessed with the stuff, it had tainted his mind until he cared for nothing else. He abandoned his people to save his riches, considering it to be more important than the lives he was responsible for. _Please, _Thorin. I do not wish for you to share his fate.”

Thorin gasps and turns back to him, pupils returning to normal size. His eyes glisten with tears and he reaches out.

“I would not. . .”

Without thinking Bilbo grasps the hand hovering between them, clutching it with both of his.

“I know, but the company - _your_ people- will starve locked away in here. Thorin, they cannot eat gold.”

Thorin lifts his other hand to cover Bilbo’s smaller ones, and he blushes despite the situation.

“What would you have me do?”

Bilbo considers the dwarf for a moment, hoping his next words won’t shatter this small triumph.

“I believe the people of Laketown have sent for help, and the nearest people besides us are the Woodland Elves. They will bring food, which we need. I would recommend giving the men their promised debt then. . . Trading with the elves.”

At this Thorin’s sorrowful expression deteriorates into one of disgust and his hands slip from Bilbo’s. His pupils change again. 

Disappointment sits heavily in Bilbo’s gut. He had been  _so close._

“You want me to treat with those who refused to help us when the drake first came? Let those fishermen run to the pointy-eared bastards. May their luck with the elves be better than ours after we were left homeless thanks to Smaug.”

“Don’t you hear yourself? How are you any better than the elves you so despise if you refuse to help them?”

Thorin looks sharply at him, then opens his mouth to reply but shuts it before he can say anything. The dwarf abruptly turns away. 

“This way, halfling. I’ll show you to a bed.”

Thorin starts walking again, leaving Bilbo to follow. 

Bilbo doesn’t.

Seeming to realise the hobbit hasn’t moved, Thorin halts and looks back at him in question. Bilbo feels his tears spilling over and lets them fall. Quietly, he speaks.

“You are changed, Thorin Oakenshield. You seem not to realise the value of life. You need to put aside this feud; if not for the company’s sake, then for yours. You cannot horde your treasures if you are dead.”

Without waiting for a response he spins on his heel, finally wiping at his eyes and cheeks.

“I find I am no longer tired. I suppose I will help the company build this blasted wall you desire, oh King.”

He turns back around the corner, out of Thorin’s line of sight, only to run into Fíli.

“Bilbo are you alright? We heard raised voices. I left the others working and was just on my way to help.”

The dwarfling takes in his no doubt puffy eyes and downturned lips, expression turning stormy. His gaze lifts to the opening of the corridor Bilbo had come out of.

“What did he do?”

After a moment of consideration Bilbo responds in a shaky voice.

“He will give the survivors of Laketown nothing, and he won’t trade with the elves for food. His sickness will be the death of us all.”

Fíli’s blue eyes return to him and his expression turns fond. He settles his hands on Bilbo’s shoulders and offers him a small lopsided grin.

“Do not fret, Master Boggins, I won’t let uncle’s sick mind decide our fate. Just because he won’t listen to you at the moment doesn’t mean we won’t. Let’s present whatever idea you have in mind to the rest of the company; Thorin will be sulking in the treasury for a while yet.”

The young dwarf takes his hand and leads him back to the entrance of the mountain. Bilbo smiles at the kind hearted prince, spirits already lifted. 

Fíli helps him up the steps of the almost-finished ramparts to where the company are squabbling over the placement of a stone. Kíli is the first to spot them, abandoning Glóin (who he had had trapped in a headlock) in favour of rushing to meet them. When he reaches them he throws his arms around the hobbit.

“Bilbo! What did he say? Are you alright? Have you been crying? Here let me get you some water.”

As quickly as he had come the dwarfling is gone again, presumably to find water. More dwarrow take his place. They flood him with questions, all talking over one an other. It’s all a bit much, and Bilbo looks to Fíli for help.

“Enough! He has enough on his mind without you all babbling. Let our burglar speak.”

The company’s yelling quiets, the only noise being the few mumbled apologies. After assuring them it’s fine, Bilbo gives them a quick summary of his and Thorin’s conversation. Kíli returns with the promised water which he gratefully accepts. 

“So what are we going to do?” Ori asks after a silent moment.

To Bilbo’s surprise eleven pairs of eyes fall to him, and he searches his mind for a response. He hadn’t thought the dwarrow would be willing to go against their King to help him.

“Well, first we should finish this wall, it won’t do to go entirely against Thorin’s orders. In the morning the elves will arrive at Dale, then Bard will come to plead for assistance.”

Ever observant, Nori pipes up.

“How do you know?”

Bilbo hastily rakes his brain for an excuse— he’s not quite ready for his dwarrow to know the whole truth.

“Legolas sent for his father when we regrouped on the lakeshore, and I overheard Bard discussing borrowing a horse off a stable hand.” The first part held some truth, but the last was a complete lie. Oh well, what they don’t know can’t hurt them. 

The company seem satisfied with his explanation so he continues before more questions can arise. 

“Should Thorin not honour his terms, we will be forced to take matters into our own hands, if we want to survive.”

The grim nods from the company spur him on and he finds some structure of a plan formulating in his head.

“We would have to give them the gold ourselves.”

“How will we do that without the King trying to stop us? Dori inquires.

Before Bilbo can answer Dwalin shocks him by speaking up.

“He may be our King, but he is still only one dwarf. If it comes to it we will have to distract him while our sneakiest slip into the treasury and collect what he promised the men of Esgaroth. He wouldn’t be be able to tell if we took twenty cart-worths out of that monstrous cavern, a couple bags of it will go unnoticed I’m sure.”

“And if you’re wrong? If Thorin does notice?” For a proud thief, Nori sounds worried. Dwalin exchanges a look with Balin, then answers.

“If he notices, I’ll stop him. The King’s quarters can be locked, so he would be comfortable enough. Angrier than a wounded bull, but comfortable, and Fíli can act in his stead. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that though. I fear he will lose whatever remains of his mind if we were to imprison him.”

Nori nods once, then looks back to Bilbo. 

“What do we do to make him give the treasure over willingly?”

“I don’t know. For now I think the only thing we can do is hope some of my reason got through to him.”

-•-

Thorin storms down the steps leading to the treasury, his mind flashing with images of Bilbo’s wounded expression. He pushes them angrily to the back of his mind. The halfling doesn’t know anything! All Thorin has ever worried about is the safety of his people. 

His pace quickens when the soft glow of his golden horde comes into view. Those miserable fishermen will get none of it! They can beg all they want, but he will not part with it. Not one piece of it. Let them run to the elves for aid if they wish. He strides through the doorway of the huge cavern breathing a sigh of contented relief upon seeing the the sea of gold beneath him. He has his treasures, that is all he needs.

_You cannot eat gold_ _,_a voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Bilbo Baggins reminds him, and his traitorous stomach rumbles in agreement. Thorin huffs and he pushes thoughts of food back to join the images of Bilbo’s face.

He wanders the halls for a while, brooding over the burglar’s words. He can take care of his own people, he doesn’t need that poncy elf to bring him a few celery sticks. Tomorrow he will send Kíli out to hunt. He might send the she-elf with him, she can make herself useful. _There’s no game within a mile of the mountain thanks to the dragon’s desolation,_ Bilbo’s voice tells him. 

Thorin shakes his head to chase it away. _There will be._

Thorin’s hand slips into his pocket and returns with the Arkenstone. He holds it up to admire it in the light. 

Since Dwalin reported the survivor’s arrival in Dale he hasn’t let it out of his sight. After Nori had found it and given it to him it had been set into its place above the throne, where he had spent most of his day. The only time he had gotten up was when the group that stayed behind in Laketown arrived. He had rushed to see them, but his mood had turned sour when they came with an _elf _rather than Bilbo. The only reason he had permitted she stay is because she apparently was the reason they all got out of Esgaroth. They told him the hobbit had chosen to stay and help the people of Laketown and would be joining them once they found shelter. He was furious that they had let him stay, and that the Burglar had decided to in the first place. He was so sure he would tell Bilbo as much when he showed up, but when he had appeared- balanced on the back of a horse, curls tousled from riding and flashing them all a wild grin- he found he wasn’t angry at all. Instead he had waited in anticipation for the small creature to make his way up the ladder, then pulled him close first chance he got.

He had been worried Bilbo could feel his heart pounding through the layers of fur and metal he wore.

However, Bilbo had been disapproving of his choices, and when he had tried to explain his motives, all the halfling had worried about was the people of Laketown. Thorin can’t help the curl of jealousy that winds through his mind. His people had suffered at the claws of Smaug as well, what made the men’s situation worse than theirs? 

_Nothing. You know Bilbo would have been just as sympathetic to your plight, if he had been there to witness it. He is right in saying we are no different from the elves that abandoned us if we refuse to help,_ the voice spits, sounding like himself this time and Thorin growls in frustration. He refocuses on the Arkenstone and his mind mercifully blanks. No, it’s different. It has to be different. 

He smiles fondly at the stone.  _Such a small thing._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of Thorin’s perspective for you! 
> 
> I wanted to show certain, ahem. . . similarities, and this seemed like the best way to do it. ;)


	5. The (Relative) Calm Before the Storm

By the time the sky starts to lighten with the first signs of sunrise the ramparts are finished, built almost as sturdy as any other section of the wall. 

The company had rotated sleeping during the night, but the dwarrow are obviously exhausted. Kíli, who is still feeling the effects of his injury despite his claims, has yawned at least eighteen times in the past ten minutes. The other younglings aren’t fairing much better.

When the last stone had been placed the group had collapsed wherever they stood, and remained that way until the present. Bilbo watches as Ori’s head begins to nod and he starts to topple sideways, landing on Dwalin and startling them both into awareness. If he had the energy for it he would laugh at the smaller’s embarrassed apologies and the taller’s gruff assurances that it’s alright. He might even tease it seems it is more than alright judging by the pair’s twin pink cheeks. As it was, all he could manage was a small smirk.

Thorin has yet to appear, and Bilbo would be lying if he said he isn’t concerned for the stubborn dwarf. His sentiment seems reflected in the rest of the company, despite their sleepy state. Balin keeps shooting nervous looks back into the mountain, as if expecting the King to materialise in the short time between each glance. Nori is twirling a dagger lazily, a sign of uncertainty in the usually collected thief. The single fact that none of them have fallen asleep yet is proof enough of the tension radiating amongst them.

Bilbo sighs then gets to his feet. He feels all eyes snap to him at his sudden movement, an obvious indication of their anxious state. Ignoring them, he goes about stretching his back and yawning somewhat obnoxiously. Bilbo totters over to the edge of the Battlements, standing almost exactly where Thorin has threatened to throw him into the dark waters below in his vision. His line of sight travels slowly up, flitting over the landscape spread out in front of him and finally landing on Dale. His rather good eyesight allows him to witness a few slender, gold clad figures setting themselves strategically about the wreckage of the city, and he knows that soon a whole army of the creatures will be crawling over Dale. Bilbo hopes Legolas’ presence amongst them will mean a better outcome for the rest of the oncoming day.

The air beside him shifts and Bilbo turns to find Fíli glaring at the city beside him. 

“Elves.” The dwarfling mutters with no small amount of distaste. Bilbo is surprised until he recalls Kíli boasting of his brothers excellent vision as if it were his own when they were trekking through Mirkwood. So long ago, he thinks absently.

“Yes. I did tell you, didn’t I? Bard shouldn’t be too far away. I wonder how our King will take this.” Despite his efforts a sliver of concern laces his voice, and he can tell the prince picks up on it. Thankfully he is saved from any prying questions when Kíli wanders over, rubbing his eyes.

“Bilbo, would you come with me while I take Tauriel some breakfast? It will do her good to see another friendly face, and I swear it won’t take long.”

Bilbo smiles at the boy and resists ruffling his hair. The dwarfling may think he’s managed to conceal the adoration he feels for the she-elf, but the hobbit can see right through him. Or maybe he recognises the look all too easily thanks to his own experience. He takes one last look at the sky, then steps towards Kíli. 

“Alright, but let’s be quick. I want to be here when Bard arrives.”

The younger prince’s grateful smile is blinding.

-•-

Bilbo follows the archer over the breathtaking walkways that make up a lot of Erebor’s interior and let’s the views consume his attention. Yavanna, is that a waterfall?

Kíli turns a corner that leads them over another bridge-like walkway and into a corridor which has been built into a rock face. The stone itself seems to be left relatively as it is, unlike some of the smooth surfaces closer to the entrance. The doorway stands almost three times Bilbo’s height in width and twice that in height. He must be quite a sight, head swivelling this way and that to take it all in. 

In the Ring-Reality he hadn’t stayed in Erebor long after the Funeral. His heart had been broken and everything would have been muted and cold without his dearest friends. Now however, he can appreciate the architecture and beauty of the place. He doesn’t realise he’s stopped to stare at a glowing turquoise mushroom sprouting from a crevice in the wall until Kíli calls out to him. 

“Come on, Mister Boggins! What happened to being quick?”

The cheeky dwarf continues down the tunnel without waiting for the burglar to catch up, leaving poor Bilbo to scurry along behind him. 

Before heading to Tauriel’s room the duo had stopped by the hall where the company are keeping their provisions. Bilbo had tried to push the tendril of dread that rose in him at the familiar sight of their dwindling food supplies down, but he couldn’t shake it. If Thorin refuses to trade they will all starve. Kíli and Bilbo had grabbed as much as they can spare for the elf, which already isn’t much.

The hall around them should be pitch black as deep as they are in the mountain, but the purple and blue-green fungi lining the walls emit a dull glow, reflecting in large streaks of gold that slice through the walls like rivers. If Bilbo let’s out a squeak of awe faced with such alien beauty then Kíli is kind enough not to mention it. Instead he quietly whispers, “just around here, Bilbo.” After giving him a moment to admire the plants. Bilbo scrambles after him, looking over his shoulder when the stone turns bleaker and is instead lit by torches on the wall. They turn a corner but Bilbo’s thoughts are still with the peculiar fungi.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” he mutters reverently. “I wonder what other marvels are hidden away in these halls.”

“My mother used to tell me and Fíli stories of Erebor when we were just wee pebbles. She once mentioned a cavern that acts as it’s own eco-system!”

Enthralled, Bilbo swivels to the dwarfling in excitement. “Really?! I would very much like to see this place. Has your mother seen it?”

“I believe so. When she gets here she can take us on a mini adventure! I do believe she’ll be very fond of you.”

Bilbo, touched at the assumption that he will be meeting Kíli and Fíli’s mother sometime in the future, finds himself at loss for what to say, and before he can think of an acceptable response, the dwarf prince is stopping in front of a door. The rest of the hallway has opened up around them a bit, and there are many doors just like the one they are standing before lining the walls on either side. Bilbo realises they are in some sort of guest lodgings, crisp and blank compared to the halls he had stayed in last time with the rest of the dwarrow.

Kíli knocks softly of the door, and it swings open almost immediately, Tauriel seeming to have abandoned her composure in the face of boredom. Her eyes find the prince’s and she smiles in relief, sighing a soft “Kíli.” before moving to embrace him. Bilbo feels his eyebrows climbing towards his hairline at the display. Loneliness has clearly taken its toll on the usually calm and slightly aloof elf if she has taken to adopting this more human way of showing affection. He wonders briefly if he should make his presence known, but the decision is made for him when hazel eyes meet his. Tauriel unwraps herself from Kíli (although she keeps a hand on his shoulder) and smiles widely.

“Master Baggins, it’s good to see you well. I trust the men of Esgaroth found shelter?”

Bilbo returns the smile, still awkwardly rocking on his heels.

“Yes, in Dale, however I cannot seem to convince our  mighty King to provide them with refuge. I fear he is too far gone, for anyone to get through to him.” 

Tauriel’s smile turns grim and slightly sympathetic at the mention of Thorin.

“Yes. I have encountered his majesty already, a few days ago. Kíli has been the only person I have seen since.”

Bilbo’s gut twists in empathy as his assumptions are confirmed. This whole ordeal won’t be as simple as he had hoped. 

“Well that’s going to change soon.” Kíli mutters, looking rightfully furious. At Tauriel’s questioning gaze he continues, “Bard will arrive soon for his promised gold. One way or another he will receive it.” 

Despite the vague explanation Tauriel seems to understand.

“You will turn against your King?”

“We hope it will not come to that, but even if it does,  _Thorin Oakenshield_ is our King. Whoever he is right now is not the dwarf we chose to follow halfway across middle earth, and as much as I would very much like him back if possible I will not risk the rest of the company’s lives by tiptoeing around him so as not to set his temper off. Let me worry about him after we give the Dragonslayer his promised fee, for now all you have to worry about is the breakfast Kíli has brought you.”

The small smirk that appears on the elf’s face is brief, and Bilbo would think he imagined it if he didn’t know any better. Tauriel gives him a nod, then takes the bag from Kíli’s hands and with a soft smile, plants a quick kiss on his cheek. The princeling’s eyes widen comically and a furious blush rises to the spot her lips touched, then encompasses his whole face. He gives her a disgustingly gleeful grin in response and they both stare at each other, smiling. Bilbo rolls his eyes, trying to keep his fond look at bay. 

“Alright enough of that you two. Save it for when I’m not around, thank you very much.” Tauriel seems suitably chastised, but the brunette dwarfling pouts in his direction before reluctantly stepping away from the elf. Bilbo is sympathetic, but he needs to get back to the ramparts before Bard arrives. He inclines his head to Tauriel in farewell.

“We must take our leave of you now. I’m glad to see you well despite the circumstances, Miss Tauriel.”

“And I you, master Baggins. I wish you luck until we next meet.”

“Thank you, I do think I will need it.”

With one last smile, Bilbo turns and meanders back the direction he came, leaving Kíli to say his own goodbyes. It doesn’t take long for the lad to catch up to him, although he keeps glancing back every few steps. Bilbo pats his shoulder comfortingly.

“It’ll be fine, Kíli. Don’t worry, she’ll be out of there in no time.”

The boy nods, offering a small smile. As they start to make their way back to main gates, Bilbo desperately tries to make himself believe his own words.


	6. Negotiations

By the time they get back the dwarrow are a much livelier bunch. Dwalin and Bofur are atop the wall— no doubt watching the legions of elves fill Dale, while the rest are gathered around a small fire where Bombur is making breakfast. Bilbo’s stomach grumbles at the smell of oatmeal, no matter how bland it is.

Fíli is the first to greet them, offering a smile and a wave. The friendly gesture is somewhat ruined by the tense set of his shoulders and the strain that turns his grin into a grimace. Bilbo’s heart aches for the dwarfling. Thanks to Thorin’s condition the young prince is going to have to make a lot of difficult choices for the Company in the near future, but Bilbo will do all he can to lift some of that burden.

The princelings and him join the Company and Bilbo let’s Kíli answer all the nervous enquires regarding Tauriel’s health. They mainly come from Óin and Fíli, then Bofur when he and Dwalin switch over the watch with Bifur and Glóin.

While they eat what little they have, the sun steadily rises, and Bilbo watches it’s arc in apprehension. Bard can’t be too far off now, and he still doesn’t know how he’s going to change Thorin’s mind. The chances of this meeting being a peaceful one are slimming by the minute.

After inhaling the last of his rations, Dwalin clears his throat and gets up. Once the dwarrow are all looking at him, the he announces, “I’d better go tell our King we have visitors on our doorstep, it won’t help us to keep him in the dark.”

The Company exchange worried looks. Only Bilbo knows how Thorin will react to this revelation, and it wasn’t brilliant last time.

Dwalin squares his shoulders, then strides off down the hallway Thorin disappeared down last night.

The minutes the rest of them are left waiting are long ones, and Bilbo thinks that Fíli will wear a hole in the ground from all his pacing.

Finally, Bilbo picks up the distant sound of footsteps, getting louder and louder. He jumps to his feet along with the rest of the dwarrow just as Thorin Oakenshield whirls into the hall like some force of nature. His expression is stormy and clouded with madness, and his furred coat billows around him as he stomps towards the ramparts. He barely spares them a glance, and as he marches through the unsure Company he barks, “Come on.” Leaving no room for argument.

The group follow him up the stairs, then arrange themselves along the top. Dale is quite literally teeming with elves, seeming to glow with their golden armour. From his spot behind the princes he hears Thorin’s low growl upon taking this sight in. All attention is suddenly cast to the valley beneath them at the sound of hoofbeats. A white horse bearing a human rider comes into view, slowing before the huge wall.

“Hail, Thorin, son of Thrain. We are glad to find you alive beyond hope.” Bard greets diplomatically.

“Why do you come to the gates of the King under the Mountain armed for war?”

Abandoning property, Bard retorts, “why does the King under the Mountain fence himself in, like a robber in his hole?”

“Perhaps it is because I am expecting to be robbed!” Thorin growls back, and Bilbo politely chooses to ignore the fact that that makes utterly no sense. It seems Bard has followed the same line of thinking as he answers, “my Lord, we have not come to rob you but to seek fair settlement. Will you not speak with me?”

After a tense moment Thorin nods, then turns around to stride back down to ground level, leaving the company to scramble to follow and Bard to dismount. While he watches Thorin whisper to a raven that had come from somewhere Bilbo’s heart rate accelerates. This is the turning point of this conversation and he can’t waste this opportunity, no matter the personal consequences.

He would rather Thorin never speak to him again than witness those glassy eyes and his steadily cooling flesh once again.

After letting the bird fly Thorin glides back to the small hollow in the stone where he can speak to the Dragonslayer. In the Ring-Reality he had kept out of it, but this time when all the dwarrow go to line up and wait for Thorin’s decision Bilbo follows him to the wall, leaning against it while the King leans forward to say “I’m listening.”

“On behalf of the people of Laketown, I ask that you honour your pledge. A share of the treasure so they might rebuild their lives.”

The dwarf shoots a quick glance at Bilbo before replying, “I will not treat with any man while an armed host lies before my door.”

“That armed host will attack this mountain if we do not come to terms.”

A twist of exasperation winds itself through Bilbo’s insides, and he decides that he’s had just about enough of these thinly veiled threats— from _both _sides.

As Thorin inhales to reply Bilbo ducks under his arm, balancing on a slight foothold so he can clearly see down the narrow gap. He may not look as majestic as the King, but Bilbo finds he no longer cares.

“Alright enough. Bard, you know better I’m sure. I won’t have you threatening my dwarrow with elves, of all things. Now, name your terms and we’ll see what we can agree upon, hmm?”

Choosing to ignore both the King’s warning _“_ _Halfling_ _,”_ and Bard’s baffled smile (not to mention the various noises of surprise from behind him and some stifled laughter that sounds suspiciously like a certain two princelings) he raises an eyebrow and waits for a response. Eventually, the leader of men recovers enough to reply.

“Umm well, I ask for only enough for my people to regain what they lost.”

To his left Thorin goes to say something but Bilbo beats him to it once again.

“Alright, let us discuss this matter between ourselves, I’ll let you know when we make a decision.”

With that he grabs the spluttering and red faced King by the wrist and tugs him back to the other dwarrow. He knows everything about it is awfully improper and no way to treat royalty, but he refuses to waste the opportunity the Ring has given him. It may be a malicious hunk of gold, but it’s proving rather useful in this case.

After stopping, Bilbo sneaks a look at Thorin’s face and fights the urge to giggle. The Dwarf appears to have gone into a state of shock at his actions— eyes wide and mouth slightly ajar.

After a borderline uncomfortably long silence Balin speaks up.

“Well, I suggest a vote. All in favour of giving the men of Laketown their promised due, raise your hand.”

Twelve dwarrow and one hobbit raise their hands, then all eyes swivel to the King. Shaken from whatever shock he had been immersed in by Balin’s words, he is looking at the floor before him. After a while of Thorin remaining quiet, Kíli awkwardly clears his throat and says, “Thorin? What do you say?”

The air is rippling with tension while they all wait for the Kings reply. After an unbearably long moment he growls out, “I say you all betray me.”

Dwalin huffs, “Betray you! Ha, there’s a laugh. We’re about the last people this side off the misty mountains that would betray you, Thorin. You know that even if we wanted to none of us can win against all that’s outside that wall.”

Thorin looks up from the ground, eyes blazing and pupils black pinpricks in a pool of ice blue. He almost quivers with rage.

Bilbo takes an involuntary step back at the force of his glare, then steps into the shadows while the King seethes.

“You would all have me hand over the gold of my fore-fathers, my true kin, to mere fishermen and  _elves?!_ _”_ He menacingly steps forward and the princes shy away, “I will not! I shall not part with any of it, and I will _kill _each and every one of you before handing over one single coin! I will—“ Then, to the surprise of all dwarrow present, Thorin suddenly crumples to the ground before his tantrum can truely gain wind, revealing Bilbo Baggins to be standing behind him, a too-big club raised uncomfortably to the height the King’s head had been.

Twelve jaws drop and silence reigns, leaving the hobbit to stare at the King while the dumbstruck Company’s gaze flicks between the two. After a while, Bilbo mutters “I guess he isn’t as thick skulled as I thought.” then clears his throat and looks up, meeting the dwarrow’s bewildered expressions with as much confidence as he can muster.

“Right, now that that’s taken care of, let’s sort this business with the men shall we? There’s some rope over there, I think it might be wise to contain him before he wakes, he’s going to be an awful pain and I know I’d prefer him restrained.”

For a second nobody moves, but then but then Fíli and Kíli look at each other and burst out in hysterical laughter. Bilbo tries not to take it to heart as the rest of the Company either join in or shake their heads in disbelief. Kíli rushes to get the rope while the laughter begins to fade and worried murmuring takes its place. Fíli stares at his unconscious uncle while Kíli and Nori bind his wrists and ankles, fear prominent in his bright blue eyes.

“He will  kill you, Bilbo. What in Mahal’s name possessed you enough to do something so stupid!”

Bilbo turns to look at the prince, meeting his gaze then looking over the rest of the company.

“Were none of you listening? I won’t stand for anyone threatening  _my_ dwarrow, even an insane King.”

Fíli looks at him in amazement for a few moments, then steps forward and embraces the hobbit. He returns the hug fiercely and if they weren’t so close Bilbo would have missed the small sniffle that escapes the dwarfling.

“You are absolutely mad,  Bilbo Baggins.”

The hobbit laughs then gently pulls back. He smiles at Fíli, not even trying to keep the waves of fondness that are coursing through him from showing in his expression. He looks at the rest of the dwarrow who are watching the scene before them with small smiles. Bilbo then looks at the bound King and sighs heavily before looking back up.

“Yes. I believe you are right. Now, one last time. All in favour of giving the men their thrice damned coin, raise your hands.” The Company collectively raise their hands. Kíli cheekily raises Thorin’s tied ones. Bilbo nods shortly, “Alright. Dwalin and Bifur, could you please find somewhere to put Thorin while we sort this out— you mentioned the Royal chambers? Óin, do you mind going with them so you can check he’s alright when he wakes? Excellent, thank you. Kíli, I think it’s time Tauriel left her room, don’t you? Good. Bofur, Fíli and Glóin would you go and fetch the coin? I know you’ll be fair when it comes to the amount. Balin, you and I will talk to Bard, the rest of you can stay with us if you like, or help Fíli and the others in the treasury. Either way, try to be back here in less that an hour.”

The dwarrow all look at him in renewed bewilderment. Balin puts his hands on his hips and chuckles, shaking his head. Jolting themselves from their stupor, the Company all give him amused forms of affirmation, some bowing or nodding, some jokingly saying “As you wish, Master Baggins!” Or variations of as they hop to their tasks. Bilbo looks to Balin in question but all he gets for an answer is a Look. He huffs and stalks away, muttering to himself. He has bigger problems than Balin’s mysterious actions to worry about!

With that in mind he carefully climbs back on the ledge so he can peer out the tunnel. Bard isn’t in sight.

“Master Bard? Are you still there?”

After a moment filled with the sound of scraping Bard’s head pops up in the small window. He clearly tries to appear as if he hadn’t heard every word of their exchange beyond the wall, looking as innocent as he can manage.

“Still here, Master Baggins. What have you decided on? Will your King risk war over a handful of coin?”

Bilbo rolls his eyes at the poor acting while Balin gently pushes him to the side in order to respond, “we have err,  _convinced_ our King that honouring your bargain is in everybody’s best interests.If you would be so kind as to wait for a while longer while a few members of our Company retrieve the gold.”

Bilbo can hear the smile in Bard’s voice as he replies, “of course, thank you. The men of Laketow—  _Dale_ will not forget your honour.”

Next to him, Balin nods then steps away. He turns to Bilbo, putting a hand on his shoulder and smiling warmly. After Bilbo returns it the older dwarf wanders off and joins the others who remain. Bilbo steps up to the window again. Bard smiles at him.

“Well, Master Baggins. I believe my people owe quite a bit to you. If you ever require our aid you shall receive it.”

Bilbo smiles somewhat grimly. “Thank you, Bard. I hate too say it but I think I’ll need to take you up on that offer soon.”

“The King?”

“No. He’ll come round eventually, there is a greater threat, and I wish I didn’t have to warn you of it this so soon after Smaug, but it must be done. Legolas chased an orc called Bolg out of Laketown the night of the dragon attack. He is Azog’s son, so he has command enough among the orcs. He met up with a group of wargs outside the town and they rode north— to Gundabad. I believe he will raise an army and arrive as soon as tomorrow. You must prepare your people for any eventuality.”

Bard’s smile drops into his usual grim expression as Bilbo speaks, and he rubs his chin thoughtfully. Finally he says, “Well, I can’t say I rejoice at a new threat so soon, but I would be foolish too avoid your advice when you’ve already done so much for us, my family especially. I will prepare all able men for a battle. I might be able to convince the elves to aid us as well.”

Relief floods through Bilbo, escaping in the form of a small sigh. He nods jerkily, “Thank you. The only way we can beat them is together.”

Bard considers him with a strange look, tilting his head to the side and leaning on the frame of his window.

“You know more, don’t you. More than anyone should know. Does this have to do with the orcs you mentioned on the shores of the lake yesterday morning?” Bilbo freezes up, other than his mouth which opens and closes. After a few more moments of stuttering and stammering he clears his throat and forces himself to relax. “Yes, Legolas told me about the orcs and we both came to the same conclusion. If you’re looking to bring the elven King to our side it might pay to bring the prince with you. As for the rest I know only as much as I’ve seen and heard.”  _And felt and smelt and tasted._

Bard stares at him for a few second longer, narrowing his eyes. Bilbo is just beginning to fidget when he lowers his gaze and nods, “I shall take your advice on that as well.”

“Alright. Yes, good. Uhh, I’m going to go manage the rest of the dwarrow. Your coin will be here soon.”

Bard nods and smiles shortly again so Bilbo smiles back and turns around, trying his absolute best to look like he’s not running away even if that’s exactly what he’s doing.


	7. Secrets

The first to return are Kíli and Tauriel, the latter approaching Bilbo and smiling brightly as she clasps his shoulders in thanks.

“You have my gratitude, Master Baggins. Kíli filled me in.”

“Bilbo. You can call me Bilbo.”

Tauriel’s smile brightens even more, hazel eyes shining with a humour Bilbo would rather not examine too closely.

Next is the group that went to the treasury—which includes Nori and Ori— carrying several bags of gold. Fíli is pulling a cart suitable for the horse Bard brought which he tugs up the stairs. Bofur and Nori help him attach two lengths of rope to it, then they carefully lower it down, all the other dwarrow rushing to take up one of the two ends and stopping it from slipping. Bard arranges the cart as it nears the ground so it gently alights on the bridge. With that they start to lower a few dozen heavy bags of coin for Bard on the same ropes, and soon the small cart is filled. After tossing the last bag in Bard turns back to address them.

“Thank you once again for honouring our agreement. Your generosity far outweighs my expectations and will ensure the future of my people. Let this be the beginning of a long and prosperous relationship between the dwarves of Erebor and the men of Dale.” His dark eyes flick to Bilbo, “And should you ever need our aid, we shall do our best to give it to you.”

“And we shall do the same,” Fíli says, “You have my deepest apologies that there was ever any doubt that we would repay you for your hospitality, my friend.”

Bard bows his head respectfully before smiling up at the dwarfling, “You are well suited to leadership, Prince Fíli. Farewell until we next meet.”

Fíli straightens and nods to Bard in thanks, “That means a lot coming from you, Master Bard. Farewell until then.”

As they watch him strap the horse in and ride away with a wave Fíli turns to the hobbit with a smug grin, “Did you hear that, Bilbo? Bard thinks I’m_ regal._ Do you think Kíli heard? I’ll tell him.”

Bilbo scoffs and rolls his eyes affectionately.

-•-

“Are ya sure this is a good idea, Bilbo? I mean, not to say ya can’t handle yourself or anythin’, but he’s going to be right mad after ya whacked ‘im over the ‘ed with that club, and he ain’t in his right mind for the time being, and as much as he likes ya, his pride probably copped a nastier beatin’ than anything! All I’m sayin’ is—“

“Bofur! I’ll be fine. Besides, I’ll have Dwalin and Dori with me, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

Bofur puts the hat he had been wringing in his nervous state back on his head, but Bilbo notices he begins to fiddle with his scarf.

He slaps his hands.

“Oi! I’m allowed to be a wee bit nervous when me friend’s throwin’ ‘imself into the dragons den, so to speak! Just because ya weren’t awake for the first time doesn’t mean ya have to do it now! This one might actually be worse.” Bofur scratches his chin thoughtfully. “Actually yes this is definitely worse.”

“Oh knock it off! There is something I have to tell him— something I  _should have_ told him when I got here, so no matter what you say I’m going in there.”

Bofur’s eyebrows rise and a smirk creeps it’s way across his face. Bilbo is lost for a second before what he just said clicks, “Oh, nothing like that you twat!” His face heats as Bofur starts to cackle. He mutters dark thinks to himself as his friend’s laughter finally lets up and he wipes away tears. However, the glint never leaves his eyes, and as they continue down the hall Bofur leans in to whisper, “Don’t worry lad, your secret’s safe with me.” and only giggles harder when Bilbo swats his arm angrily.

-•-

Minutes later Bilbo begins to wonder if he should have taken Bofur’s advice to heart.

The door to Thorin’s chambers looms over him, as unwelcoming as the reception he is bound to receive on the other side. Dwalin places a steadying hand on his shoulder before opening the door for him. Bilbo glances at Bofur who gives him an encouraging smile.

“You’ll be fine, ya said it yourself remember? Now get in there before ya overthink it— or he escapes. ‘E’s bound to be headin’ this way now, I’m surprised he wasn’t curled up waiting on the other side really.”

Bilbo laughs weakly, then steels himself and slips through the doorway.

Inside he finds himself in a dim little entryway with an archway across from the door. The sound of Dwalin shutting the door behind them makes Bilbo jump, and he shoots the two dwarrow a sheepish look over his shoulder.

Dori smiles sympathetically, “you’ll be alright, Master Baggins, and remember not to take anything he says to heart. He’s not himself lately, and his dwarven pride won’t let him forgive you just yet, but it’ll come soon.”

Bilbo finds himself genuinely reassured and smiles back, “Thank you, Dori, I truely think I needed that.” He turns back to the room ahead then takes a few nervous steps forward. 

This room is much larger than what he could have imagined with a massive chandelier hanging from a stalactite in the middle of the cavernous ceiling. To his left there is a desk space and a doorway that assumedly leads to the bedroom. On the wall to his right there is a huge fireplace that could probably fit two of him in it, so Bilbo decides to steer clear just in case Thorin gets any ideas. In front of that there’s a fur rug and a comfortable looking couch with two armchairs either side, then right in the middle of the room sitting directly below the chandelier is a beautifully carved table.

“Uhh. . . Hello?” Bilbo calls out but is met with silence. On the wall across the room from the doorway he is currently hovering in there is another two arches.

“Thorin?” After receiving no reply he cautiously steps further into the room, heading for the arches. He skirts around the circular table and does a double take when he spots the Arkenstone sitting on it, Thorin’s heavy crown encircling it—like a cage. Amidst the confusion a tendril of concern winds its way through Bilbo’s nerves. For him to leave the Arkenstone so exposed. . . He shares a look with Dwalin then hurries to the doorway.

Outside he finds himself on a balcony. Instead of being set into the side of the mountain it faces a gigantic cavern which is lined with countless other windows and balconies, but the one he’s standing on is by far the largest and made to be the centre of attention.

Thorin is standing in the middle, leaning against the railing looking out over the dark, empty city. In his relief Bilbo sighs and starts towards him, but comes to a halt when his brain catches up. Instead he stays close to the wall where Dwalin and Dori take up residence, one in either arch.

“. . . Thorin?”

For a long time the dwarf doesn’t respond and Bilbo begins to fidget, but just as he opens his mouth to speak again Thorin rasps, “Do you know why the King’s chambers are built in the centre of the Mountain?”

Nervous but eager to converse with the King he stutters, “no, uhh. No I don’t.”

There’s another painfully long silence before Thorin explains.

“It’s so his people feel close to him at all times, it shows that he is not an outsider, but one of them.” Unsure of how to respond, the hobbit stays quiet. After an uncomfortable silence Thorin continues, “ _My_ people — the ones I trusted the most, have decided to follow a... a  _halfling_ over their own kin.”

Baffled, Bilbo starts to bristle, ready to come to the defence of himself and his dwarrow, but Thorin starts speaking again.

“And yet, while half of me sees this for the  _treason_ it is. . .” He begins to slowly turn around, “the other half cannot fault them for it.” Bilbo let’s out and involuntarily gasp at the sight of his friend’s pale, sunken face, his eyes red and glistening with tears. Without thinking he takes a few more steps forward, reaching out with one hand but stopping just out of reach.

Thorin sucks in a shaky breath and tilts his head back, staring up into the void above them.

“I. . . My mind feels like it’s trying to tear itself in half.”

His voice cracks on the tail end of the sentence and it’s enough to break Bilbo’s heart, which was rather fractured enough already.

Throwing all his self preservation to the wind he steps closer and takes Thorin’s trembling hand in both of his. The dwarf stiffens in surprise but then sighs and relaxes. He looks down at Bilbo, perplexed.

“You must either be incredibly brave or incredibly idiotic to be here, especially since my mind can’t seem to decide if I should be throwing you over this balcony or throwing myself at your feet and begging for forgiveness.” Tears well in his eyes again and he breaks eye contact to look over the ledge, “or maybe I should combine both of those options and throw  _myself_ over.”

Bilbo gasps as tears start to fill his own eyes, “Oh, _Thorin.”_ He lets go of his hand to wrap his arms around the dwarf. Thorin falls to his knees and Bilbo follows him down, holding him while he sobs into the hobbit’s neck. He looks back at the doorway to see Dwalin looking horrified and an anguished looking Dori. He gives them a look and they seem to understand because a moment later they’re crossing back to the entryway. He turns back to Thorin, resting his cheek on his head.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

“But  _why?_ I don’t deserve this. I... I threatened to  _kill_ my nephews, Bilbo. Those I had sworn to protect. I threatened all of them, I threatened _you._ I don’t know what’s going on with my mind! It’s like there’s a voice that’s not my own in there— or it is me, but it’s just. . .  _Wrong._ Do you know what I mean?”

Bilbo huffs a dry laugh, “Unfortunately, yes.” He pulls back but only far enough to be eye level with Thorin’s tear streaked face, “I’m going to tell you something now, I know it’s going to make me sound mad but please bear with me.” Thorin looks wary and confused but nods for him to go on. After a deep breath, Bilbo starts.

“When I fell into the caves below Goblin Town, I woke up to a half conscious goblin about three feet from me. . .”

Bilbo tells him all about the Ring and his experience with the ghastly creature and his riddles, and how he used the Ring with the spiders and in Thranduil’s halls. He tells him about the awful insect-like monstrosity and the surge of rage that possessed him when it’s claw touched his little loop of gold, and how he realised then that it was a thing of evil and it had some sort of power over him. All throughout Thorin listens attentively, baffled and disbelieving at first until Bilbo takes it out of his pocket and shows him. The Ring radiates a menacing energy and theres no doubt that it’s seething with rage. He puts it away where it can brood.

When he finishes he carefully considers his friend, who has calmed a fair bit since he started talking. Thorin still trembles slightly every now and then and he has the front of Bilbo’s coat clenched tightly between his fingers, but it seems listening to him speak has helped pull him from his head at least for now.

“Thorin. . . I think the Arkenstone is very similar to my Ring, in the way it gets in your head. I had to physically distance myself from it to stop the voices. I think it’ll work the same for you.”

Thorin’s eyes darken, pupils shrinking, and he begins to say something but stops himself. His eyes return to their normal state and when he speaks it’s resigned.

“I. . . I think you might be right. Ever since I put it down things have been clearer, despite how overwhelming it’s been. I fear this conversation would have gone differently had I been in the same mindset I was this morning.” He sighs heavily and looks back towards his room, “But what can I do? I can’t destroy it or get rid of it, at least for now. It’s the only thing that will unite my people— they’ll refuse my leadership if I don’t have it.”

“Then you won’t get rid of it yet. I assume you called for Dain when you sent that crow?”

Thorin looks at him in surprise but Bilbo waves him off, “I know my maps Thorin. Long ago in my kitchen Dwalin mentioned the leader of the dwarrow of the Iron Hills, which is the closest dwarven settlement to this mountain. You were feeling attacked and when one feels threatened they look for allies, hence; Dain. So. . . am I right or not?” What he doesn’t mention is the fact that he absolutely without a doubt knows he’s right—from experience.

Bilbo decides he’s better off keeping the Ring-Reality to himself, since the more he alters the timeline the harder it will be to control, and the only thing he wants out of this is his dwarrow alive.

Thorin gives him a tiny smile, “Yes, you are correct. They should arrive by tomorrow. I doubt they will be needed for what I originally intended however, as you have no doubt given Bard his promised due.”

Bilbo fidgets and looks away, “I know it wasn’t my place— and I’m sorry I hit you with the club, but I just had to stop you from saying all of those things that I know you wouldn’t say in your right mind— and you weren’t listening— so yes I gave him the coin, Fíli determined the amount— he’s been so mature lately, you’d be proud of how well he’s been taking care of everyone— not to say you don’t! Or wont! It’s just recently. . . Umm yes, he handled the coin— I should stop talking about the coin, um, he’s a very good prince—“

“Bilbo!”

Bilbo shuts his mouth with a click and gives Thorin a sheepish look. The King is attempting to control a smirk and Bilbo feels his cheeks heat up.

“Do not fret, I understand. While my pride may object to your methods I cannot deny they have been successful in knocking some sense into me. Besides, I believe you may have prevented a battle and no good King ever seeks war.”

Bilbo feels his nose involuntarily twitch, “Yes, about that. . .”

He tells Thorin what he told Bard about the orcs from Gundabad and how the enemy forces will attack some time tomorrow, watching worry lines draw his friends face taut.

“. . . We have to prepare for their arrival. As far as allies go we may require some aid. Bard will help us, and with Dain’s army we should be able to hold them for a while, but I don’t think it will be enough. . .” He trails off and judges Thorin’s expression.

He looks pensive as he finishes Bilbo’s thought for him, “You want to ask the elves for an alliance.”

“I believe if we want to come out of this alive we’re going to have to.”

The dwarf is silent for a moment, lost in thought, but continues with a sigh, “As much as I dislike it, I agree.”

Bilbo gapes. Thorin frowns.

“What?”

“Nothing! I just. . . Pictured this whole conversation going completely differently before I got here.” He shakes his head quickly and starts to get up, pulling Thorin with him, “Now, we had better start preparing for this. I can go to Dale and talk to Thranduil, if you like. He might not take me seriously, but Legolas can put in a good word, and Bard will be there I suppose. . .” He starts making plans, but Thorin shakes his head.

“No. You should stay here, I need you to watch me and make sure I don’t start to act like I was before, and the others probably think of you as their leader more than me right now, they need you.” Bilbo goes to contradict him but Thorin raises a hand, “I speak nothing but the truth. I haven’t been acting like the leader I should be. Besides, this is the perfect chance to put Fíli’s leadership skills to the test.”

Bilbo smiles as they pass through the arch into the surprisingly warm room, “. . . You’d better send Balin with him.”

His smile grows when the King responds with a surprised burst of laughter.

  
  


-•-

When he steps out into the hallway Bofur is waiting.

“Bilbo! Are ye alright?”

His friend’s eyes flick to what Bilbo presumes is Thorin exiting behind him and his smile dims slightly in uncertainty. The hobbit reassured him with a grin.

“Yes, perfectly fine for now, Bofur. However we need to gather everyone, we’ll explain on the way.” 

Dwalin, Dori, Óin and Bifur join them outside the door, Dwalin striding over and clasping Thorin’s shoulder, “It’s good ta see ya back in ye own head, cousin.”

Thorin smiles in response, clasping the burly warrior in return. 

“Aye, good to  be back.”

He greets the others similarly then leads them in the direction of the main gate, Dwalin and Dori just behind him, Óin after them, then Bifur, then Bilbo and Bofur.

As they walk Bofur chuckles, leaning close, “I don’t know what it is about ya, Bilbo, but you’re workin’ miracles.” 

“Yes, well, he actually snapped out of it himself. I just helped set him on the right track after.”

“It was no doubt the talk ya had with him yesterday that prompted him to get better, ya know. I’ve never known a dwarf to take being beaten over tha head with a club so well!” A sly look passes over his friends face and he coyly says, “I doubt he would have if it was anyone but  _his burglar.”_

Bilbo splutters as he searches for a comeback, but isn’t fast enough, and Bofur cackles before picking up his pace to walk safely next to his cousin.

Narrowing his eyes, Bilbo attempts to set his stupid hat on fire with the force of his glare alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha bet y’all thought there would be anger n stuff. Ha. Haha. Nope, I’m weak and I couldn’t bear the angst :’)
> 
> So, what I kinda tried and failed to imply is that Thorin’s breakdown sequence from the movie, where he yeets his crown and all that fun stuff, happened when he regained consciousness in his room, but because there was no battle or anyone to turn to he ACTUALLY breaks down. (Can now be found in chapter 9)
> 
> Anyway, I have to tell you I think Bofur’s hat is the best thing in existence and it pained me to call it stupid, but it had to be done because Bilbo is a fashion snob.
> 
> Also thank you all for 1k hits and 100 Kudos!! You all make my day a bit brighter when I get a notification for a kudo or a comment :’D


	8. Training

On the way back to the battlements Bilbo and Thorin explain their dire situation to the other five dwarrow, then again to the rest of the company (plus Tauriel) once they’re all gathered. None of them question Thorin’s turn for the better(although Fíli and Kíli stand a little closer to him, and Bilbo doesn’t miss the comforting hand he places on either of their shoulders when the company is distracted by the hobbit’s words), nor do they seem to care that Bilbo leads the conversation.

“. . . So we must prepare ourselves for battle. Dáin is arriving tomorrow and Bard will send his men to aid us, but it won’t be enough. We need more fighters if we’re going to stand a chance. We need to ask the elves for aid.”

At Bilbo’s revelation the company burst into words of protest.

“There’s no way, it’s bad enough we’re going to have to rely on them for food!”

“Quite right, I’d rather take on the orcs by  _myself_ than have to fight next to one of those poncy little pointy eared prats! Not including you of course, Miss Tauriel.”

Tauriel laughs at the dwarf’s guilty expression, “Of course, Master Glóin.”

The grumbling continues until Thorin shouts, “Enough! I like it as little as the rest of you, but it is necessary if we want to keep Erebor in our hands. If we lose tomorrow orcs will take the mountain for themselves—is that what you want? The elves’ help will turn the tide of this war, and perhaps begin a new age of friendship between our people, which will be essential for Erebor’s future. This is our one and only chance, are you all really willing to give it up for pride?”

Suitably chastised, the dwarrow mutter negatives and apologies. Bilbo grins subtlety at Thorin before continuing, “most of us will stay here to prepare weapons and make battle plans while a small party travels to Dale to ask  _nicely_ for Thranduil’s aid. Thorin and I are staying here. Fíli, you’re going to Dale in the place of your uncle— and before you protest, Bard will put in a good word for you after this morning and so will Legolas. As for the rest of you, he will need people to go as support. So who will it be?”

Most of the dwarrow immediately avoid eye contact, finding reasons to look elsewhere. Balin rolls his eyes and steps up to place a hand on the sulking prince’s shoulder, “I’ll go with the lad.”

Tauriel also steps forward hesitantly, “As will I, if that’s alright. I can put a good word in, even if it might not mean much to King Thranduil anymore.”  


Bilbo nods gratefully,  “That would be excellent. Thank you, Miss Tauriel.”

“I’ll go too!” says Kíli to nobody’s surprise. Dwalin gives him a disgusted look.

Bilbo glances around the group, “Anyone else?”

Bofur sighs then steps forward, “I’ll go. I might get the chance to see how Bard’s pebbles are doin’. The wee one was rather shaken after Smaug’s attack.”

Surprisingly, Nori also saunters over to the leaving group, “You’re all gonna need me ta watch ya backs while ya beg. I’ll stay hidden.” At Bilbo’s look he continues, “What? Last time he saw he was throwin’ us in his dungeon. I’ll only do anythin’ if they make tha first move.”

“Alright then, thank you. Just make sure you’re all back in time to prepare yourself for battle. I doubt Dale has anything as sturdy as Erebor’s armour.”

This time he gets noises of affirmation and pride, the dwarrow expressing their belief in the integrity of dwarven craft.

After a suitable about of boasting, the six going to Dale prepare to leave and the rest start to trickle down to the armoury. Bilbo is about to follow when Nori calls him over.

“Oi, Bilbo!”

The thief is standing slightly apart from the other five, and when Bilbo approaches he meets him halfway, away from prying ears.

“So, are ya gonna tell me how ya managed to get Thorin’s head back on straight?” Before he can respond, the dwarf continues, “Did ya snog ‘im or somethin’?”

And just like that Bilbo’s initial reply is gone.

“Wha— what?”

“I bet all he ‘ad ta do was hug ‘im.” Bofur calls from the group. Apparently the distance between them wasn’t enough when dealing with nosey dwarrow.

“Well, which was it, Bilbo?”

Knowing quite well his face is beyond red at this point, Bilbo can’t seem to form coherent sentences and instead splutters indignantly.

“Oh, leave him alone you two.”

Kíli wanders over and places a protective hand on his shoulder, glaring at the others, “If you both weren’t so preoccupied with Bilbo and uncles relationship maybe _you’d_ be together by now.”

The pair look at each other in horror, cheeks reddening, then cry protests.

“We wouldn’t—“

“I would never—“

“His weird damned hat—“

“Oi watch it, my hat’s excellent, your hair however—“

“Say _one_ negative word about me hair an’ I’ll shove a dagger—“

They dissolve into argument and Kíli rolls his eyes, “Bloody hell, how old are you both— twenty? Get your arses out the door, we’ve got an elf to suck up to.”

He gives Bilbo’s shoulder a squeeze before letting go, shooting him a playful smirk and a wink as he ushers them away. Bilbo just stands there, shellshocked, as the five dwarrow and Tauriel disappear.

“It’s a dark day when _Kíli_ has to be the responsible one.” He mutters to himself, shaking his head then turning to follow the others to the armoury.

-•-

He can hear the chatter of the remaining company before he sees them, each claiming pieces of armour for themselves and occasionally bickering over an item. He smiles to himself as turns the corner and makes his way up the familiar corridor, revelling in the little changes he has already made.

“Master Baggins, come here!” Bilbo jerks away from the chest plate he is studying and continues towards the others. Thorin stands before them, silhouetted by the warm glow coming from the room beyond. He is already clad in his armour, however this time it is less ornate, built to fight in rather than pose for a painting. In his arms he holds a familiar chain mail shirt.

“You’re going to need this.”

Seeing his mithril shirt in his friend’s hands stirs up the emotions long repressed from the Ring-Reality, the wonder and awe; the hope he had felt when he thought Thorin had _finally_ overpowered his sickness because he was looking out for a lowly hobbit such as Bilbo.

He glances up at Thorin in askance, not wanting to overstep.

“Put it on.”

He hurries to shrug his heavy coat off, folding it half heartedly. While he looks for a place to put it, Thorin continues just like he did last time, except this time he does it with a soft smile.

“This vest is made of silver steel—  _Mithril__, _it was called by my forebears.” He holds it up so Bilbo can duck into it. He tries not to struggle too much, but it’s just  _so hard_ to find the damn armholes! The King chuckles quietly before helping him, “No blade can pierce it.”

Together they manage to settle it on his shoulders, the coolness of the metal seeping through his layers to his skin. Seeing all the others pause in their hunt for battle attire to watch their exchange Bilbo feels rather ridiculous, and he says as much.

“I look absurd!” He cries, unable to help a little self deprecating laugh when he meets Thorin’s gaze, “I suppose I’m just not cut out to be a warrior.”

“Nonsense. Mahal damn any foe to underestimate Bilbo Baggins. It will be the last thing they ever do.”

His face heats for the umpteenth time today.

_ I need a damn cup of tea. _

“I do believe you are mocking me, Thorin Oakenshield.”

“Quite the opposite, Bilbo. I am being completely honest. Underestimating you is a mistake I for one will never make again.”

Breathing. There’s an idea.

“Well, thank you then. It is one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen.”

“It is my gift to you. A token of our friendship.”

There’s a cough from the armoury that sounds very Dwalin-like.

Bilbo startles at the sound, having forgotten all about the other seven dwarrow present. He breaks eye contact, missing the severe glare Thorin fixes the offending dwarf with. Dwalin snorts a laugh then turns back to the rack of axes lining one wall, the rest following suit.

Thorin reaches over and squeezes Bilbo’s shoulder before heading after them to investigate the rows upon rows of swords and other weaponry.

Bilbo takes a moment to let his breathing return to normal. What  _is it_ about that dwarf that has him so. . .  _Flustered?_ He sighs heavily then looks down to admire his chain mail, a small smile playing at his lips.

“Oh stop ya blushin’, ya insufferable hobbit. Mahal above, you’re both as bad as each other. Now c’mere, Ya can’t go into battle with just that little toothpick to protect ya.” Bilbo huffs but still approaches the bald headed dwarf, however cautiously. Dwalin gives him an assessing glance, then turns away from the axes with a scoff, “yer wee arms wont be able to handle anythin’ weightier than a dagger, but I might have a solution, c’mon.”

He strides away, leaving Bilbo to skitter along after him, his own legs no match for the warriors bloody tree trunks. They pass many racks of swords, axes, flails, shields and things he could never have imagined before, then enter a small room off to the side of the main armoury. Inside is dark, but Dwalin grabs a torch off the wall outside which he uses to light the others. They splutter and pop but eventually even out, brightening the area.

The room is filled with archery gear, and despite the fact that it isn’t the first choice for dwarven weaponry, they seem well stocked. The walls either side have an array of intricately carved bows propped up on pegs, and in the middle of the room there is crates bursting with arrows. The far wall is reserved for other accessories— quivers, arm-guards, gloves and the like. Dwalin inspects each bow, pulling a limb back on a few. Bilbo hovers behind him, overwhelmed by the amount of gear he has no idea how to use. 

Eventually Dwalin hums in approval, stringing a bow then pushing it into Bilbo’s hands. He gingerly takes the offered weapon, holding it carefully. Dwalin watches him expectantly, the silence drawing out for an unbearably long time. The hobbit’s wide eyes flick between the dwarf and the bow. He eventually stutters, “It’s, uhh. . . It’s. . .Nice?”

Dwalin stares at him in exasperation for a while before rolling his eyes and growling, “Try ta pull it back, fer Mahal’s sake! Don’t let tha string go though, ye’ll hit yer arm.”

Bilbo hastily sets himself the same way he’s seen Kíli do, planting his feet and straightening his spine. He pulls the string back, trying not to flinch as it digs into his fingers. He manages quite well, despite the slight pain in his fingertips, and Dwalin goes about correcting his stance and hold.

“Alright, ye can let it down fer now. Let’s get ya some protection.” He stomps off to the end wall, muttering as he pulls things off the shelves. He returns and offers them to the hobbit, who takes them curiously.

“This ones for ya arm to stop the string from hittin’ it when ya release the arrow, and this ones for tha hand that draws back tha string. It’ll stop it from cutting into ya every time ya shoot. Put em on.” Dwalin takes the quiver to the crates and begins filling it with arrows while Bilbo struggles with the strip of leather he’s meant to put on his left arm, he uses his teeth and free hand to pull the lace up tight, but gives up on trying to tie a knot. Dwalin returns with the quiver, strapping it to his back. He fixes the arm guard with a tut.

“Now ye have ta learn how ta shoot, an’ with Kíli gone, we’ll ‘ave ta settle fer our next best archer.”

Bilbo looks expectantly at the warrior, “Where do we go?”

Dwalin looks perplexed then chuckles in realisation, “oh no, lad, not me. I may know me way around a bow, but I’m more useful with an axe. Ye’ll be workin’ with Thorin.”

Bilbo takes in the Dwarf’s shit-eating grin and wonders just what deity he’s managed to anger.

-•-

Half an hour later, Bilbo finds himself in a large hall with a distant ceiling, targets set up at different distances down the range. As far up as he can see the walls are filled with abandoned rooms, just like the cavern outside Thorin’s quarters.

Apparently watching the most incapable member of their company struggle counts as good entertainment because almost all of the dwarrow that stayed behind are sitting along the sidelines. The only one not with them is Thorin, who is standing next to the hobbit.

The dwarf gives him an encouraging smile, “Alright, Master Baggins. Show me your stance.”

Taking a breath, Bilbo squares his feet, turning sideways to the target. Encouraged by Thorin’s noise of approval, Bilbo straightens and pulls an arrow from his quiver. He nocks it then draws.  


The string no longer cuts into the delicate flesh of his inner knuckles thanks to the leather glove, and Bilbo focuses on the tip of his arrow.

Thorin glides around him, tapping his elbow up and relaxing his arm slightly. He curls Bilbo’s little finger and thumb in to touch each other, then nestles the burglar’s hand under his cheekbone. Bilbo fights a blush as the King leans close to his face to see down the arrow for himself. 

Apparently satisfied, he steps back and Bilbo tries not to mourn his loss too much.

“Alright, Bilbo. When you’re ready.”

He sucks in a breath, relaxing slightly now he’s not so concerned about Thorin’s whereabouts. 

_Focus focus focus. . ._

Raking his brain for any knowledge he could use so as not to embarrass himself entirely in front of his friends, he thinks of the games he used to play back at the Shire. He remembers throwing stones at bottles on a fence with his cousins. This also brings back memories of the battle, fighting alongside Dwalin before he got knocked out. 

Back in the present, he closes his left eye and alters his aim slightly to suit his right. He breaths out, relaxing, then lets the arrow fly. It shoots across the short distance, embedding itself in the edge of the second ring with a dull  _thunk._

The dwarrow watching are silent until Ori let’s out a whoop, clapping loudly. The others join him, and Bilbo turns to Thorin with a grin. The dwarf is smiling, and as soon as Bilbo spins around he clasps his shoulder, “Well done. That was a fine shot.”

Bilbo beams at the praise and the Kings eyes soften. The others, not to be left out of a celebration, leave their seats and clammer around the pair. Dwalin knocks most of the air out of him with a pat on the back, then Ori squeezes the rest out with a hug.

After a while they calm down enough for him to reset his stance and nock another arrow, sending the next into almost the same spot.

He only gets better as time wears on, continuing his practice as the dwarrow slip out one by one to find a bed for the rest of the night.

Dwalin and Thorin stay the longest, the King and warrior offering tips and advice as he lets loose arrow after arrow. He has slowly made his way to different targets, each one further than the last. He methodically empties his quiver, retrieving the arrows then moving on the the next target. Dwalin eventually leaves, and Bilbo’s arms begin to shake from the unfamiliar exercise. 

He doesn’t stop until Thorin halts his hand as he reaches for another arrow.

“That’s enough, Master Baggins. You’ve more than proved your skill in this area, save your energy for tomorrow.” Bilbo reluctantly nods and begins to pack his gear up. Thorin holds his bow as he takes off down the range to retrieve his arrows. The dwarf begins to de-string the weapon, raising his voice so the hobbit can hear him as he continues, “Have you ever shot before, Bilbo?”

“Oh, no I haven’t, but I wish I had.”

“You like it?”

“I do! Aiming is just like knocking bottles off a fence.” 

Thorin’s surprised chuckle reaches his ears, causing them to redden slightly.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to predict what you’re going to say next, Master Burglar.”

Bilbo ducks his head in embarrassment, pulling his last arrow from the straw.  _Why him._

“I didn’t mean that as offence.”

Bilbo jumps at the voice suddenly next to him, squawking in shock. Thorin steps back quickly, holding up his hands at if to pacify the hobbit, “I’m sorry! I did not mean to startle you.”

Bilbo raises a hand to his heart, blush in full swing now. He takes in the King’s wide eyes and earnest expression and can’t help the giggle that escapes him.

He slaps a hand over his mouth, waiting for Thorin to lose his temper. His friend however, stares back with a put out look, but then starts to laugh. The hobbit let’s his own humour overcome him, and the two laugh uncontrollably for a while.

Thorin is the first to pull himself together, but a smile still graces his face. Bilbo follows suit, gazing up at the dwarf, eyes sparkling.

Thorin regards him for a moment, then grips his shoulder warmly, “get some rest, Bilbo. Tomorrow will be a big day.”

The hobbit nods, still smirking, and the King starts for the door. He shoots him one last grin over his shoulder before disappearing, leaving Bilbo to pack up the rest of his gear.

Neither notice Dori on a balcony up above, shaking his head and chuckling to himself.

-•-

Bilbo makes his way through Erebor’s corridors, carrying his new bow with him. He hears chatter up ahead and continues towards it.  


He turns a corner and spots the group that went to Dale coming towards him. They see him at the same time, calling their greetings.

“Bilbo! Just who we were hoping to find. Nice bow!” 

The dark haired prince bounds over, the rest following at a slower pace. Kíli takes his weapon and inspects it, then hands it back, grinning.

“At least somebody here has some taste.”

Bilbo grins back, “I wish you’d showed me how to shoot before!” He turns to the others as they catch up to the dwarfling, “I take it you come bearing good news?”

Fíli wanders up next to his brother, “Mostly! The thing is, the Elven King will only fight with us if we return his gems. Nori was just going to take us to them, he said he saw them when he was looking for the Arkenstone. Don’t worry, we’ll talk to Thorin before we go.” 

“Well, I’ll leave you lot to it then. Make sure you all find some armour and get some rest before dawn, alright?”

He is met with various words of affirmation and a half-hearted salute from Nori. He bids the group farewell and continues on the the room he claimed last time. 

Yawning heavily, he slips inside and out of his archery gear, gingerly running a hand over the carvings in his bow. A blank spot at the end of the top limb catches his eye, and he chews his lip in thought. Resolving to talk to Bofur about a carving after the battle, he removes Sting and his Mithril vest, setting them carefully over a chair.  


The room is cold but his covers are warm, and as he drifts off, Bilbo plots possible outcomes to the fast approaching day.

_Yavanna be with us._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year everyone!! I cannot thank you all enough for sticking with me while I continue to promise fast updates and let you down every. Single. Time. You all have the patience of saints and I LOVE YOU ALL!!!
> 
> Also I have a head canon that Bilbo is super good at archery cause of that one scene in BOFA where he was yeetin’ rocks at those goblins, so I hope that’s ok with y’all!
> 
> Anyways, hope you like sum Bofur/Nori cause I decided to add it in, cause it wasn’t self indulgent enough already XD
> 
> Hope y’all are still enjoying this, shout out to all the people leaving comments because they literally light up my day :’)
> 
> Alright, I’m off now, see you all next time!
> 
> <3


	9. Breaking Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place in between Chapter 6 and Chapter 7, it’s Thorin’s P.O.V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a throwback here, some of you wanted Thorin’s breakdown so I tried XD
> 
> I’ve never written anything like this before and it’s been a long time since I had a breakdown of my own, therefore I only have my own experience to go off. It may not be realistic.
> 
> This one was quite hard for me, so I’m sorry for the large gap :)

As his consciousness starts to return, Thorin focuses on the voices around him. Despite sounding like he’s listening from underwater, he makes out Dwalin’s gruff baritone.

“He’s still out cold. I ‘ave ta say, that wee halfling ‘as a mean swing.”

“Perhaps it’s for the best. The longer he’s unconscious the longer Master Baggins has to realise he should really get as far away from here as possible.” Dori’s proper tone joins Dwalin’s.

Thorin is thoroughly stumped, their words only half registering to his foggy mind. Why would his hobbit be leaving? He has to stop him!

He attempts to sit up, but his head throbs unexpectedly and a groan is drawn unwillingly from his throat. His eyes are squeezed shut but he still hears the others bustling about around him.

“Not so fast, your Majesty. You’ve got a nasty bump on your head that Óin has to tend to.” Hands clamp on his shoulders, pushing him to lay back down. Thorin tries to shrug them off to no avail. Must be Dori then, nobody escapes his coddling.

“Release me! Where is the halfling?”

Dori’s grasp tightens almost painfully, “He’s back at the ramparts, fixing the mess  _you_ nearly got us all into.”

Thorin’s eyes fly open and he gapes at the silver haired dwarf in disbelief, “Excuse me?”

Dori just huffs, ignoring Dwalin’s warning look.

“You nearly started a war,  _your Highness._ Therefore you will not be leaving this room until your head is screwed on right and you’re no longer threatening my brothers. Now, I’m going to tell Óin and Bifur you’re awake so our doctor can check on you.” Without another word the prim dwarf lets him go and strides out of the room.

As he stares, dumfounded, after Dori, Thorin realises he’s in the King’s chambers, the bedroom to be precise. His grandfather barely used them though, preferring the treasury. Head spinning, he turns to Dwalin, finding him to be standing with his arms crossed in Dori’s place. His cousin reveals nothing with his stoic expression, but two can play at that game.

Schooling his face into a hard stare, he demands, “Tell me what happened.”

Sighing, the other dwarf’s posture deflates, but he stays standing.

“Thorin, what’s tha last thing ye remember.”

Humouring Dwalin’s our of character aversion of the question, Thorin considers the last few hours.

He remembers the Dragonslayer atop a white horse, then him requesting Thorin’s audience, which he graciously granted. He recalls Bilbo following him to the wall, then cutting in before Thorin could reply to Bard’s empty threats.

Thorin frowns. He will have to have words with the halfling for that display— it was not his place to interrupt the King. A scowl tugs at his face as the rest of his memory returns to him; Balin’s proposed vote, his kin  _turning_ on him. His scowl deepens when he realises that’s as far as his brain can take him.

Someone had attacked him.

He glares at Dwalin, then demands, “Who.”

To his surprise, his so-called friend remains silent and begins to  _fidget_ _._ As the quiet ensues, Thorin starts to put the pieces together in his head. The conversation between the two dwarrow before they realised the King was somewhat conscious, their uneasy glances, not to mention his  _imprisonment_ _._ Then the answer comes to him.

_The halfling._

A white fury so hot it feels ice cold curls through his veins, and he feels his face go blank. Dwalin says his name and it rings through his head, but as the dwarf keeps talking,  _defending_ the hobbit, the words echo about in his mind, twisting into each other until they become a constant hum that further enrages him.

The shire  _rat._

He trusted the pathetic thing. Worried for him. Let him close, and in return he had turned Thorin’s own company against him.

With calculated purpose, he rises from the bed, stalking to the door he knows leads to the living area. As he moves he feels the heavy weight of the Arkenstone thump against his chest through his cloak, like a heartbeat. It’s all he can hear over the blood roaring in his ears. His crown is on the table so he puts it on, barely pausing in his march. Dwalin steps in front of him, so he pushes him aside. Or he tries to. However Dwalin is built like a brick wall so he is unsuccessful.

“Move.”

“No.”

“You’re defending that creature?”

“He ‘ad to do what he did. Ye not actin’ like tha dwarf we all decided to follow at tha start a this shitstorm. Can’t ya see this isn’t you, Thorin?”

“Don’t call me that, _traitor!_ I am your King! I demand you step aside.” He seethes.

“You were always my King, but don’t ye see you are a lesser man now than you’ve ever been? You were threatening ye sister’s boys, Thorin. Bilbo did what he needed to to protect them.”

“That rat has no claim on them—“

“Yer missin’ my point. You said you’d kill them. Right now, he has more right to them than _you.”_

At this, Thorin staggers back. Voices fill his mind, louder than they’ve ever been.

_Kill him for saying such a thing._ That one sounds like him, but poisonous.

_Dwalin’s right, you’re acting like an utter clothead_ _. _That would be brain-Bilbo.

_They’re all traitors, you won’t need them once Dain and his army arrives._

_They’re your friends! How can you cast them aside after everything, you act as if they’re nothing._

_They are nothing. If they choose to follow a halfling they’re no friends of yours._

The voices rise in volume, other familiar tones joining in until his head buzzes with noise. Thorin attempts to clutch his head, but the crown gets in the way. Gritting his teeth he turns away from Dwalin, releasing a low whine.

“Thorin? What are ye-“

With too many voices already filling his brain, the pressure releases in a shout, “GET OUT! Before I kill you!” Not waiting to see if Dwalin complies, Thorin staggers into his bedroom.

_The Thorin I know would not hesitate to shelter fauntlings in need!_

_I say you have all betrayed me._

The room swims in and out of focus, a flame in the corner flickers and for a moment Thorin sees ivory teeth beyond it.

_Thorin are ye alright? Why don’t we take a break._

_No! We don’t rest until the Arkenstone is found!_

He stumbles over to his desk, aiming for the chair. He trips, catching a paper that tumbled with him and spills quills and an dry inkwell across the stone floor.

_He’s back at the ramparts, fixing the mess you nearly got us into._

_You are a lesser man now than you’ve ever been._

He shakily rises, attempting to grip his hair. The crown is in the way again.

_I’m not my grandfather._

_You are changed, Thorin Oakenshield. You seem not to realise the value of life._

_I’m not my grandfather._

As soon as he tears the crown off his head, his vision clears. Thorin hurls the vile thing across the room, satisfied by the noise it makes hitting the opposite wall.He breathes deeply, but as he thinks more about his situation, the breaths come shallower and shallower until it feels as if they aren’t coming at all. 

Tears spill suddenly from his eyes, and Thorin cries out before rushing over to pick up the crown. He makes to put it back on, but stops himself. Still unable to suck in a lungful of air, his hands start to shake and he drops it again. This time he pulls the Arkenstone out of his coat and throws that as well, then tugs the coat off and tosses it aside. 

Thorin’s whole body quivers as he drops to his knees, finally griping his hair. His mind tears at itself, physically hurting him. A scream wells in his throat and he can’t help but let it out.

He crawls over to the stone and clutches it to his chest. He picks up the crown as well, pushing himself to his feet. The voices swirl at the back of his mind, not quite as loud as before but still there.

Shakily making his way to the living area, he sets the stone on the table. It seems to glare up at him, calling to him and urging him to pick it up again. Thorin debates doing just that, but stops himself. Instead, he sets the crown around it to keep it’s spite contained.

He chokes on a relieved sob as he turns away from them both, making his way to the balcony. 

Outside is just as he remembers, but without the many torch lights illuminating each room. His people should be here filling them. 

One of the voices still humming in his head pushes itself forward.

_They will be soon, but you have to make sure you’re alive to welcome them first. A war won’t accomplish that._

Brain-Bilbo’s tone is kind, but the words still feel like a punch to the gut. He never wanted this, how did everything spiral so far out of control?

The stone and crown come to mind, and as he stares out over his empty city, he cries for pushing the Company away, he cries for those lost in Laketown and the first attack on Erebor, and he cries for how his half of him still wants to end Bilbo Baggins, while the other half just wants to beg for forgiveness.

-•-

Later, when walking back to his chambers to get some rest before the battle, Thorin reflects on the fact that the voices finally stopped when Bilbo held him and smiles.


	10. On Apologies and Alliances

“Bilbo get up, you lazy thing!”

The poor hobbit jerks awake as two lumps of muscle (and unnecessary amounts of hair, in his opinion) land on him. The air leaves him in a  _whoosh_ _,_ causing him to choke.

The princes roll around chortling, undeterred by Bilbo perishing beneath them. Finally gasping in enough breath, he wheezes, “Get. . . off!”

They scramble away as he swats at them weakly. Fíli smirks while Kíli pulls his best wounded expression, “I really thought you loved us, Master Boggins— me the most obviously, since we’re archery buddies now.”

“I’d love you more if you woke me up with a cup of tea rather than squashing me.”

The younger perks up, “But you do love us?”

Bilbo is about to retort, but then catches a glimpse of the pure excitement and hope in the pair’s expressions and can’t help but answer honestly.

“Yes, I suppose I do.”

Kíli squawks in delight, leaping over and hugging him tight. Fíli joins in a second later, and in unison they mumble, “We love you too, Bilbo.”

For a moment he is overcome with affection, pulling them close. It becomes clear just how young and vulnerable they are, and he lets the rush of protectiveness sweep through and consume him.

After a few precious moments, he untangles from the princes. With one last smile at them, he gets up.

Bilbo stretches a few times, then patters over to the chair and pulls his mithril shirt on over his clothes. The blue jacket follows, then his belt and Sting. Kíli helps him with his arm guard and quiver, passing him the glove as he finishes tightening the strap.

He picks up his bow, then turns back to find them staring at him wistfully. Bilbo glances at himself, checking for mistakes, “What? Did I miss something?”

“No! It’s just. . .” Kíli looks to his brother for help.

After a moment of thought, Fíli says, “You’ve come so far since we met you at Bag End, Bilbo. I never would have thought I’d see the fussy little hobbit who fainted at the mere mention of a dragon preparing to face an army of orcs, all while barely batting an eyelid.”

“Not to mention being the one to snap uncle Thorin out of his madness! And helping us see hope in the darkest of times. Point is, who would have known back then that you would become the most valuable member of our company!”

“Probably Gandalf.” Fíli points out.

“Yes, but he doesn’t count.”

Bilbo looks between the two, emotion clogging his throat.  _How did he ever cope with losing them?_

“I-I don’t. . . I don’t know what to say! Thank you both, I—“ he cuts himself off, instead choosing to return the smiles they’re giving him. He hugs them both again, then pulls back and gently shoves them in the direction of the door. “Alright, enough of that. You two need to go get ready.”

-•- 

When he arrives at the ramparts after sending the princes to get into their armour, the first thing he notices is a large arch in the wall that wasn’t there yesterday. Confused, he climbs the stairs to the top. A few of his dwarrow are already there, looking alert. Bilbo wanders over to Nori, who’s staring out over the landscape. He seems intently focused on one point, and when Bilbo follows his gaze, he realises why.

Hundreds of men march slowly across the plain, flanked by gold clad elves. Bard and Thranduil ride at the front of the group; the Dragonslayer on his white horse and the Elven King on his elk. Bilbo adds the beast to the list of beings to save from certain death, remembering the heartbroken elf watching as his warriors loaded it’s body onto a cart, along with many of their kin.

He glances up at the thief, noting uncharacteristic frown.

“What’s going on?”

“Tha men are takin’ refuge in Erebor, seein’ it’s safer ‘n all. Bofur ‘n Balin went ta get em bright an’ early this mornin’.” Nori answers without looking at him.

“That’s good, yes?” Bilbo prompts. Now he knows what to look for he can see the two dwarrow just behind the two leaders.

“It would be if they’d bloody hurry up! They’re takin’ too long gettin’ ‘cross tha valley. They’re too exposed.”

Surprised by the apprehension in his friend’s voice, Bilbo pats his arm soothingly.

“Don’t worry, Nori. They’ll be back in time.”

Nori suddenly looks at him sharply.

“How are ya so sure? Not just about this either. You knew Bard was comin’ with absolute certainty. What aren’t ya sayin’?” The silence stretches out as Bilbo frantically tries to come up with an excuse to no avail.

Thirty seconds pass, and when it becomes clear that the hobbit isn’t going to reply, Nori’s gaze softens, “Ya can tell me, Bilbo.” he reassures.

Chewing his lip, Bilbo considers his options. If he doesn’t tell Nori, he’s going to have to come up with an excuse, and he’s starting to loose patience with the lies. On the other hand, if he explains the ring to another person, he might just tip some scale and cause the death of one of his loved ones.

_But what if it’s the opposite and telling Nori is what saves them?_

He decides that there’s no easy way out but the truth and he opens his mouth to tell his friend everything.

“Well, the truth is—“

“Bilbo.”

The sudden voice makes him jump, a shriek escaping in the process.

“Sweet Yavanna!” He must be seriously loosing his touch if  _dwarrow_ can sneak up on him!

Bilbo spins on his heel, glaring while Thorin tries to hide a delighted smirk. “Not a word, you prat!”

“About what? The odd noise that just came out of your mouth or the power of flight you seemed to posses for a moment. Good morning to you too, by the way.”

The hobbit narrows his eyes, “You did it on purpose, didn’t you.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re insufferable.”

Next to him, Nori fights a grin, and Bilbo doesn’t mind his humour being at his own expense if it takes his mind off worrying about the travelling party. Leaning close he mutters, “I’ll explain everything later.” Assured when the thief nods in return.

At that moment the Princes join them, both of them taking their places in between Thorin and himself. He gives Kíli’s armoured shoulder a pat. For a long while the five of them just quietly watch the group cross the soon-to-be battlefield.

-•- 

Finally, the first of the men reach Erebors gates, passing through the archway. The rest of the Company have joined them by now, and they watch from above as the survivors enter the mountain for the first time.

Nori disappears from Bilbo’s side only to reappear at Bofur’s a moment later. The friendly dwarf smiles wide in greeting, and they both lead the hordes of Laketowners into the kingdom while Balin makes his way up the steps, Bard and Thranduil in tow, along with a familiar face.

“Gandalf!”

Bilbo dashes over to hug the wizard, who chuckles at his display.

“It is good to see you one again, my fair fellow. I trust you’ve kept everything in order?” The old man slyly glances at Thorin before looking back at the hobbit questioningly.

Bilbo gives him a reassuring smile, “I like to think so.”

Thorin steps forwards, nodding respectfully at Gandalf then bowing to each leader. “King Thranduil, Master Bard, you have my thanks for agreeing to join forces with us, your aid will no doubt prove to be invaluable in the coming hours. I deeply regret how our previous encounters have ended, and would like to offer my sincerest apologies; to you especially, Master Bowman. Unfortunately, when you came to retrieve what was owed I had been consumed by my gold sickness, but now I have been freed of its grasp and it is clear how wrong I was to attempt to deny you. I am sorry.”

Bard responds with a nod of his own, “Apology accepted, Your Majesty. No harm was done and your companions gave us our due. You have a capable heir in Prince Fíli.”

“I agree.”

The blonde dwarfling puffs up in pride, clearly trying to maintain composure. Bilbo grins affectionately.

Thorin turns to the Elven King next, “King Thranduil, our people have been at odds for a long time, but I truely hope this day may mark the beginning of a prosperous friendship between the Dwarves of Erebor and the Elves of the Greenwood. Do you agree?”

The elf’s lips quirk in a small smile and he bows his head, “I do. Our quarrel ended the moment your Company returned my gems. Besides, good relations will be mutually beneficial. After the battle we shall discuss more, for now I must tend to my troops. Good luck, Thorin Oakenshield.”

Thranduil sweeps away to where an armoured elf holds the reigns of his mount, Bard bows shortly then follows.

Legolas takes their place, “Master Baggins! It is good to see you well, my friend.” He takes in the bow and quiver full of arrows strapped to the hobbit’s back, “I see you’re significantly more armed than when we last spoke.”

Bilbo grins and embraces the prince warmly, much to Thorin’s horror and all the present Company’s mildly shocked amusement.

“Legolas! I too am pleased to see you in one piece, and I’ll be taking your title of master archer soon! I trust your presence increased our chances of an alliance, and for that I thank you.”

The blonde elf shakes his head, “I may have put in a good word, but your dwarrow were the ones who swayed my father. Speaking of, I do believe your princes have earned his respect.”

The two dwarflings are practically vibrating with smugness, both donning barely suppressed grins. Fíli bows, prompting Kíli to do the same, “You honour us, Prince Legolas.”

As his friend nods at the princelings then leaves to talk to Tauriel, Bilbo spots the last two of his dwarrow making their way back from the visitor halls, walking side by side. Satisfied the people of Laketown have found a safe place to rest, he waves as they draw near. Bofur and Nori wave back, then at the top of the stairs the thief joins Bilbo while Bofur wanders off to greet Legolas, “Well?”

Sighing, Bilbo gestures for Nori to follow, ignoring Gandalf’s eyes on him and moving slightly away from the group.

“I have a magic Ring that can turn me invisible and showed me the future!” He blurts out when they’re far enough away for his liking. The dwarf stares at him, dumbfounded, then starts to chuckle uncertainly.

“Yer jokin’.”

“It’s no joke, I’ve had it since the goblin tunnels— it’s how I got you all out of Thranduil’s dungeons.”

He shows Nori the Ring, and although it still oozes it’s malice, he looks unimpressed. “It feels nasty but it ain’t turnin’ you invisible.”

“I have to be wearing it for it to work.”

“Well go on then.”

“What?”

“Put it on.”

Bilbo sighs, giving his friend a dirty look. Nori just raises a braided eyebrow and nods expectantly at the little band of gold. Defeated, he ducks around a corner so the rest of the company can’t see them then raises a finger to the Ring. It radiates triumph, and he curses the curiosity of dwarrow. “_Thorin_ didn’t make me show him.” He mutters bitterly.

“So Thorin knows too, eh?”

A blush climbs up his cheeks and suddenly, being invisible doesn’t seem so bad, “uhhhh. . . Magic Ring, here we go!”

The second he disappears, Nori’s eyes light up and his teasing smirk turns into a grin, “Somethin’ like that’d make. . . Ahem. . .  _Acquiring_ things easy! On an unrelated note, would ya mind if I borrow it sometimes?” Ignoring the feeling that particular sentence sets off in him, Bilbo scoffs and takes the damned thing off, stepping out of the alcove.

“As if I’d play any part in your schemes. Why would you even need to  _acquire_ anything? After all, you have fourteen percent of the treasure of Erebor, what more could you need?”

The thief shrugs, “it’s a hobby.”

He tucks the Ring hastily back into his pocket, rolling his eyes, “Couldn’t you just take up knitting instead?”

Nori gives him an offended look in response. Sighing, Bilbo rubs a hand over his face, “You’re taking this remarkably well.”

“Well, we ain’t got ta the second part of ya outburst yet. Yer gonna have ta expand on that whole ‘showed ya the future” thing.”

“Yes well, it hasn’t been wrong so far, I have changed a few things though.”

“So, d’ we win?”

Before he can answer, they’re interrupted as Legolas glides over, and Bilbo thanks the stars for his elf friend’s timing.

“Master Baggins, I must leave you now. Bard shall require assistance in making sure all troops are armed and ready to fight. Blow the horn and we will come.”

“It’s Bilbo, and once again thank you for all your help. We couldn’t have done this without you.” He gestures vaguely around them. Legolas smiles.

“There is no doubt in my mind that you could,  _Bilbo_ _._ Farewell until the battle.”

“Yes, Farewell.”

As Legolas leaves, Bilbo‘s sensitive ears pick up the sound of beating wings on the wind. He turns in time to watch a sleek raven swoop in to land on the edge of the ramparts, cawing quietly. Thorin notices as well, striding over and leaning in to listen. Nori and Bilbo wander over to join the rest.

The bird chatters in his ear for a moment, and when it stops the King smiles and looks expectantly to the rise on their left.

A lone figure astride a boar crests the hill. After a moment countless dwarrow pop up behind him. Dáin yells something to his men, then leads them towards Erebor.

The Company wave and holler greetings at the approaching dwarf, then one inside Dáin joins them on the battlements.

“Thorin! I ‘ave ya say, there’s a lot less elves than what I was led to believe!”

Thorin embraces his cousin warmly, “It’s good to see you, Dain, and trust me, there’s still plenty of elves but theres been a change of plans. We discovered we have a common enemy, and it’s fast approaching Erebor as we speak.”

Dáin’s cheery expression falters, “Orcs?”

“Precisely. You’ve arrived just in time— the battle will not be won without the might of the Ironhills.”

“Well if it’s aid ya need, aid ye shall get! I know I failed ye once, Thorin, an’ it won’t ‘appen again. We weren’t there when ya reclaimed Erebor, but we sure as hell will be when ya fight for her!”

The company cheers, and so do the masses of dwarrow waiting below who Bilbo hadn’t noticed until then.

To say he jumps is an understatement.

Thorin smiles wide, clasping his cousin’s shoulder, “Thank you, truely. You have no doubt saved us. You and your men should help yourselves to anything you can find in the armoury, but do hurry, I expect the enemy isn’t far off. Listen for the sound of the war horns.”

Dáin bows his head, then the two nock their heads together. The dwarf lord quickly greets the Company then disappears into the mountain, followed by the Ironhills dwarrow.

Bilbo sidles up to Thorin.

“This is all going rather well.”

The King smiles down at him, “Yes, it is. I’m waiting for something to go wrong though— we’ve never had this many win’s in a row.”

“I know the feeling. Although the whole ‘army of orcs’ sounds like enough of a downer for a few turns at least.”

“Good point.” They stare out over the plain in silence for a while, then, “I’m so sorry, Bilbo.”

Bilbo turns to gawk at the dwarf, “Whatever for?”

“You’ve been forced to be the leader of this Company in my sickness, and I can tell it has weighed on you. You’ve handled it incredibly, and it suits you, but you shouldn’t have had to shoulder that burden just because I—“ he breaks off and looks sternly at the ground, “Because I wasn’t strong enough. I kept telling myself I wasn’t like my grandfather— that I could  _handle_ it, but it turns out I wasn’t so unlike him after all.”

“Oh Thorin, you have nothing to apologise for. I only did what I thought you would have done in your right mind.  _You are not at fault for the Dragon Sickness._ What matters is you pulled yourself out of it, and you stand here today as yourself.”

“But the truth is, I owe that to you as well, Bilbo.” Thorin says, giving him a tender smile that makes his heart stutter, “I owe you for more that I can ever repay, but that won’t stop me from trying.”

Bilbo struggles to find the words for the third time this morning, but finally settles on softly quoting himself with, “I’m happy to have shared in your perils, Thorin. Each and every one of them.”

The King’s smile brightens, and  _is he getting closer? I think he’s getting closer!_

Before he can follow that thought, a loud horn echoes through the valley. Bilbo’s stomach drops.

Azog’s army is here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought I’d cut it here, makes for a good cliffhanger! ;D 
> 
> I don’t have much to say, other than:
> 
> • Bilbo is an excellent adopted Uncle
> 
> • Thorin is a jealous bastard but is trying to be civil
> 
> And 
> 
> • I’m fairly confident that I will be continuing this fic into Post-Battle territory, and exploring our Company and Outer Character’s futures in this reality, so this fic isn’t nearing its end quite yet!
> 
> Yes, I know what Peter Jackson wrote, but I’ve just expanded it.
> 
> These chapters are all deleted scenes I swear.
> 
> Anyway, once again, thank you all SO MUCH for reading— is that 2k hits I see?! You all mean the world to me and I’ll see you next time <3


	11. The Battle Begins

The ground rumbles, and the Company watches in horror as the far ridge bursts open. Great Worms explode from the earth, crushing huge stones in powerful maws.

“Archers, to the battlements!” Thorin shouts back into the mountain. A nearby elf blows his horn and the large chunk of Thranduil’s forces that remained near the wall begin to stream up the stairs and take their places along the ramparts.

With the elves covering them for a moment, the King turns to the Company who are still gathered.

“I know I have no right to ask this of you, considering my recent behaviour, but will you all follow me one last time?”

Dwalin scoffs and punches his arm.

“As if ye have to ask, ya great lump. We’ll follow ye till the end, and this definitely won’t be the last time.”

The Company cheer their agreement, and Bilbo almost chokes up.

Almost.

He’s definitely not crying.

Thorin smiles, knocking his head with his cousin, then he turns to his friends.

“Bombur, sound the war horn. It’s time for Dáin to join us.” As the dwarf hurries away to do just that, Thorin keeps giving them orders.

“Kíli, Tauriel and Bilbo, you three will be needed amongst the archers. The rest of you, come with me. We’ll meet Dáin at the gate.”

Ori surprises everyone by suddenly pumping a fist in the air, shouting, “LETS KICK SOME ORC ASS!”

The Company answers him with another louder cheer, and Bilbo watches in amusement as Dwalin grins dopily at the young scribe. The warrior‘s got it  _bad._

Thorin presses his forehead to Kíli’s, then nods at Tauriel.

When he comes to Bilbo, he smiles softly. He steps forward and presses their foreheads together too, whispering, “Stay safe.”

Unable to completely comprehend anything with the King’s close proximity, he breathes, “You too.”

Thorin grins and nods, pulling away but maintaining eye contact for a few precious seconds. Reluctantly, he turns and leads most of the Company down the steps. As they pass Bilbo’s wits thankfully return to him, and he reaches out to stop Fíli. The princeling gives him a curious look, but follows as he is lead a few steps away.

Turning and gripping the Princes hands, the hobbit let’s every ounce of seriousness seep into his expression.

“Fíli, when the battle truely begins and we join you in the field, you  must not let your brother out of your sight, do you hear me? You two  have to stick together. Alright?”

“Bilbo, what’s this about?”

Another horn sounds from Raven Hill, and his heart trembles.

“Just. . . Please. I’ll explain later, but if the situation arises, don’t leave him.” He debates for a moment, then says, “And don’t go to Raven Hill.”

“I don’t know what you mean—“

“Fíli, promise me.”

The dwarfling gives him an uncertain look, but after a moment, he nods.

“Alright Bilbo, I promise. But you have to tell me what’s going on after the battle.”

“I will.”

Fíli pulls him into a hug, “Good luck.”

The hobbit returns the embrace fiercely, tears welling in the corners of his eyes, “You too. Now go and show those orcs why they should never mess with the Golden Prince of Erebor.”

Grinning wide, Fíli turns and follows the others down the steps, missing Bilbo’s anguished expression. Yavanna knows he won’t survive losing them a second time.

He notices Nori standing at the top of the stairs. They make eye contact and he can tell the thief heard their conversation and has made the correct assumptions. The dwarf nods conspiratorially, and a little piece of the weight pressing down on the hobbit shoulders floats away at the assurance of someone else looking out for his dwarflings.

Pulling himself together, Bilbo reaches over his shoulder for his bow, then an arrow from his quiver. He squirms into a spot between Kíli and one of the woodland elves just as Thranduil reaches the battlements. Astride his elk, his piercing blue eyes survey the lines of orcs and other creatures of evil assembling on the other side of the valley. Legolas appears, nodding to the hobbit before slotting in on Tauriel’s right.

Below them, hundreds of dwarrow (including Bilbo’s) stream out of the arch and cross the stone bridge, settling into formation. Behind them come the elves, then finally Bard’s brave fighters. The King, the Lord and the Dragonslayer follow them out.

Breath stuttering at the sight of Thorin riding a huge black goat, Bilbo watches the army part in the middle to let the leaders through. Flanked by Bard on his white horse and Dáin on his boar, his dwarf turns to address them all.

“Today, we stand against a foe that has plagued our lands for too long!” He guides the goat, trotting along in front of the first line of dwarrow, “United, we shall bring an end to Azog’s plans of dominion. United as we are, the army before you will not triumph!” Thorin turns and heads back towards the other end of the line, “They came expecting an army of fourteen, but thanks to loyalty and trust, we proved to be above petty grievances and long past feuds! As long as we stand together, they will not claim our mountain! Or the City! Or the Greenwood! On this day, we don’t just fight for our own kingdoms, but we fight for all of Middle Earth! On this day, we represent the free peoples of this world. So, when our blades swing; or our arrows fly; or our hammers fall; they do so with the strength of all people who could not be here today behind them!” Settling back between the other leaders, he raises Orcrist, which Legolas must have returned the night before, “So I ask you, my Company and Dwarves of the Iron Hills. . .” a cheer erupts from the dwarrow and (of course) Bilbo, “Men of Dale. . .” Bard raises his sword with a yell, the men do the same, “and Elves of the Woodland realm. . .” to the surprise of most, the following cheer is deafening, “ARE YOU WITH ME!”

Dwarrow, men, elves, and one hobbit raise their weapons, their battle cry causing the very ground to quiver. Energy hums amongst them, and all eyes are on the King as he turns to face the orc forces. Azog’s distant horn sounds, and his army begins their charge. Thranduil gives his archers orders in his own tongue, and although Bilbo cannot understand the words, he and Kíli draw along with the others. The army draws closer, but the Elven King urges them to hold.

A few more tense seconds pass, and just as Bilbo’s muscles begin to twitch, the orcs must step within range, because Thranduil’s voice (this time in the common tongue) rings out clear.

“Fire!”

He releases the string, and the sharp  _twang_ echoes among them as not only the archers on the battlements, but those on the field below let their arrows fly.

A moment passes in anticipation as the cloud of arrows slice through the air, but then orc, warg, troll and goblin alike are falling.

Almost every arrow finds a different mark, and right after they land, Dain’s voice rises above the whoops of joy.

“Bring out the Goats! Let’s see how they like tha ol’ twirly-whirlys!”

The dwarven war machines are led out from Erebor, and on Dáin’s command launch huge spinning wires towards Azog’s army. Bilbo thanks every deity he knows that this time the blood spilt by those deadly contraptions is black rather than an elvish red.

Thranduil calls for another volley, so they take aim and again release as one. Dáin follows them up with another shot of his war machines, taking out a hefty chunk of evil forces.

Despite the deaths of their fellows, they keep coming, and when they reach the halfway point of the plain, Thorin kicks his mount into action. Bard drops back to his men and Thranduil leads his archers down the steps and joins the elves on the ground. Kíli and Bilbo move with them, and as they do, Legolas leans in to mutter, “Most kills wins a drink from least kills.”

Kíli contemplates for a second, then accepts, “Your on.”

From his side, Tauriel pipes up, “I’m in, so you boys may as well admit defeat now.”

Ever the voice of reason, Bilbo quietly cries, “That is absurd!”

Legolas smirks, “It’s ok if you don’t want to get involved, Bilbo. It’s a tough competition for a beginner.”

Oh, so  _that’s_ how it is. Well, what else can a respectable hobbit do but accept?

“Fine. I’ll have a cup of tea when I win.”

“I believe you mean  _if, _Master Baggins.”

“We’ll see.”

The Elven prince breaks away from them at the end of the bridge, following his father. The rest of them join Fíli near the front lines, Bilbo slinging his bow onto his back and pulling Sting from it’s sheath.

Reeling his goat in briefly, Thorin looks back and raises his sword as the animal rears, “FOR EREBOR!”

“FOR EREBOR!” The dwarrow forces answer him while the elves and men roar a battle cry. The King spurs his beast on and the army shapes into a point with Thorin at its tip, Dáin and Dwalin flanking him as he charges towards the wall of orc and goblin. Bilbo himself has a prince on either side, just a few paces back from the front.

There’s a moment when the only noises are the thundering of their feet and their battle cries, and then the two sides are colliding.

They cut through the orcs, rallying to Thorin.

They start to separate eventually, and the rest of the army gets a chance to engage. Bilbo finds himself fighting alongside Tauriel as Fíli and Kíli hack their way to their uncle.

They don’t talk to each other necessarily, but there’s a constant string of words between them.

“Six. . . Seven. . . Eight. . . Nine. . .”

“Twelve. . . Thirteen. . . Fourtee— would you. Please. Just. Die! Fourteen. . .”

“Twenty! Twenty-one. . . Twenty-two. . .”

Tauriel stays in the lead, much to Bilbo’s disgruntlement. It only gets worse when he spots Legolas in the distance, plowing through enemies with expert swings of his new sword.  _Show off._

-•-

The fight rages seemingly endlessly, Azog’s war horn splitting the air every now and then.  


Amid the chaos Bilbo pauses to look around for his dwarrow.

Without the city to fill, the battlefield is thick with bodies, so it’s hard for him to make out anyone. Since Dáin’s war machines took out most of the orcish archers, many who had been felled by a poisoned arrow in the ring reality lived on, including, thus far, Thranduil’s elk. In the haze of battle, he also recalls slitting the throat of a goblin mere seconds before it could spear Dáin’s boar. There was only enough time for the lord to grip his shoulder in thanks before they were separated.

He slices the shin of a goblin charging Tauriel from behind, then stabs it in a gap in its chest plates when it falls with a shriek.

“Forty-six.”

In the space it leaves he momentarily catches a glimpse of Nori struggling with an orc. Panicking, his friend shouts “Bofur!”

The miner’s head snaps up at the thief’s distressed cry, and before Bilbo can even blink an axe is embedded in the foul creatures head. He doesn’t get a chance to be relieved though, as Ori is suddenly the one crying out. Nori pulls Bofur’s axe from its resting place, sending it into the head of his brother’s attacker just in time.

That’s three then; although it comes close to becoming two when Ori throws the axe back to Bofur and his face nearly shares the same fate as it’s two previous victims. Thankfully the miner has incredible reflexes.

A screech brings him back to his own surroundings and he raises Sting to deflect a heavy blow from an orc. 

Never has he been so grateful for their lack of stealth.

He struggles against the pressing weight of its blade for a moment, then ducks to the side. The orc is sent stumbling without Bilbo to prop it up, and the hobbit slits its throat as it passes him.

“Forty-seven.”

He takes the split second the creature’s death gives him to scan for more of his friends. 

Nearby, Thorin and the princes fight alongside each other, their movements fluid and well practiced. Some of the tension in Bilbo’s shoulders melts away at the sight of them. 

A few paces away, the brothers Ur and Bifur hack and chop their way through the tides of orc around them, Nori and Glóin only metres away. 

Suddenly, one of the hulking mounds of troll veers in the direction of his dwarrow, spurred on by an orcish rider. One of the enormous flails attached to the creatures arms comes dangerously close to Glóin, who only just avoids being squashed. 

As Bilbo fights his way over to the group dwarven spears cut through the air, sinking into the trolls flesh. It seems undeterred, however, and continues its path of destruction.

“Nori!”

Bilbo watches in shock as Bofur starts to run towards the thief, who seems to catch on quickly.

“Glóin!” He shouts.

“Right behind you, laddie!”

Nori and Glóin raises their shields, creating makeshift launching pads. Using the boost the two dwarrow provide, Bofur leaps at the troll, catching on to one of the spears sticking out of it, then using the others to scale it’s tall form. At the top, he makes quick work of the orc rider.

The present Company gape as the miner settles into the seat, pulling the chains to direct the troll and crushing the enemy rather than their allies.

After a moment of awestruck silence, Nori cheers. 

“YES!”

Bofur grins wide, throwing a wink to the thief who blushes profusely while smiling back.

Reenergised by his friend’s accomplishment, Bilbo turns and slices the calf of the nearest goblin. 

The hobbit cuts his way through any enemy in his path, finding himself mere paces away from Thorin. He stabs one from behind before it can bring a mace down on his friend’s head. 

The King nods gratefully, then gives him a once over for injuries, “Are you hurt?”

“No, are you?”

“I’m fine. Have you seen Dáin?”

Before he can reply, a shout draws their attention, “Over here, cousin! Hang on.”

Dáin decapitates an orc, steering his pig between bodies. They watch as the fiery haired dwarf pulls it to a halt then leaps down, landing heavily but with surprising grace.

“There ye are! I’ve been lookin’ all over for you.” He turns to Bilbo, “Thanks for killin’ that bugger with the spear, Ol’ Nellie woulda kicked the bucket if it wasn’t for you!” 

Nellie trots over, pressing her snout to his curls. He scratches her under the chin, unable to suppress a smile, “Any time.”

Dáin turns to the King, “Theres too many of them, Thorin. I hope ye’ve got a plan.”

“Aye. We’re going to take out their leader.”

Bilbo’s head snaps up, and he politely attempts to escape Dáin’s pig.

“Azog.”

The beast is rather stubborn however, and continues to block his path. A goblin decides that’s a perfect time to attack. 

While Bilbo is occupied, Thorin slings himself onto a goat, “I’m going to kill that piece of filth.”

“Wait— oh blast it!” An orc charges over, screeching. He makes short work of the foul thing. 

“Fifty-eight— wait, no! Thorin stop, you bastard. You can’t.”

“The halflings right, you cannot do this. You are our King.”

“That is why I must do it.” The stubborn idiot replies. 

“And how do ya plan to fight yer way single handed to Raven Hill?” Dáin sounds as frustrated as Bilbo feels.

A shout pulls their attention, and the hobbit barely avoids being trampled by six goats. Attached to said goats is a bolt cart, and as soon as he spots it’s occupants he steps in front of it. 

“Absolutely not.”

Fíli gives him a look that has no right being so exasperated, “Bilbo, you must see reason—“

“Out of the cart. You too Kíli.”

“But that’s not—“

_“Out.”_

“Bilbo, they should be there—“

“You,  _shush._ I’m not letting you deliver the immediate line of Durin to the one person who has sworn to destroy you all. It’s out of the question. Now both of you out, or I swear I will climb up there and drag you down myself.”

“But—“ the blonde starts.

“Fíli, you  _promised.”_

The dwarfling looks torn for a moment, but in the end reluctantly jumps down. Some other members of the Company have gathered, and as the Princes leap out, Ori takes one of their places. 

Bilbo makes eye contact with Nori, who steps closer to the sulking princes. The burglar nods, then clambers up to take the last spot. 

“Bilbo—“

“Thorin, if you so much as think about telling me to stay, the orcs will be the least of your problems.”

The King wisely falls silent.

Dáin laughs, “By Durin, the wee fella ‘as you all wrapped around his finger, doesn’t he! Ye ‘ave some bite to yer, I’ll give ye that!” He says, addressing Bilbo.

The hobbit gives the dwarf a grin before Balin is spurring the cart into motion. Thorin kicks his goat alive, raising Orcrist.

“Yah! To Raven Hill!”

He charges ahead, leaving the cart to follow. 

“Hold tight lads!” Balin warns.

As they speed off Dáin shouts “Yer all mad bastards. I like it!” When they’re out of ear shot, he quietly adds “May Durin save you all.” 

Bilbo stands rigid as they approach the thick of the fight, staring grimly ahead. 

The final stretch approaches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suck at action I’m sorry!
> 
> I also suck at inspirational speeches so there we go. I hope y’all are ready, cause we’re in the endgame (of the battle at least) now!
> 
> I sort of glazed over the whole fight cause I mean, we’ve all seen the movie, we all know how it goes (or how it doesn’t go in this case)
> 
> Anyway, I really hope you enjoyed it, and that you’re all staying safe while the virus is spreading, I love you all! <3
> 
> Don’t forget to drop a comment or a kudo before you go! I love hearing your thoughts and adding your suggestions in!
> 
> Until next time :)


	12. Perilous Times

The cart speeds across the battlefield, fast approaching the seemingly endless ranks of Azog’s army. In front of him, Ori lifts the flail he’s acquired at some stage in anticipation while Dwalin loads bolts into his shooter. Above him, Balin grips the reigns hard, mouth set in determination.

Bilbo sheaths Sting with a loving pat, then retrieves his bow from his back. It’ll be more effective in the oncoming bout. 

Ahead of them, Thorin braces himself for impact as he reaches the horde. The King roars fiercely as he plows into them, leaving a path of destruction in his wake. 

Meanwhile, the goats leading the cart bow their heads, readying to charge in after the solo dwarf. When they make contact, the twang of his bow string, tearing orc flesh and the clinking of Dwalin’s bolts fill Bilbo’s ears, and none of the enemies in their way remain unscathed— in fact, they are  _extremely_ scathed if an orc that is still trying to walk despite it’s legs being severed just above the knee is any indication. 

Another blast of Azog’s horn echoes through the valley as they carve through the field, and Ori cries a warning as six huge trolls lumber their way, hefting heavy clubs. 

“Look out!”

Balin gives one reign a hard tug, causing the cart to teeter dangerously on two wheels before righting itself with a thud. 

The trolls group together in an attempt to barricade them, but instead line themselves up perfectly for the spinning blades attached to the wheels to decapitate them as the goats use a rock as a launch pad, sending them sailing at neck height for the unlucky creatures.

Dwalin hollers in victory, pulling a grinning Ori close and pumping a fist. Bilbo wants to be pleased, he really does, but he can’t find it in himself to feel anything but disgust as a piece of troll hits him in the cheek.  _Eugh._

“Eyes left, lads!”

Balin’s cry brings all their attention to a new troll cresting the hill ahead. The beast flails it’s arms which seem to have some sort of axes attached at the wrists instead of hands.

“Oh for the  _love of—“_

He cuts himself of with a squawk as the troll’s axe hands nearly take out their goats, skimming the air just above them. The foul creature stumbles when it’s swing misses, and it’s leg catches the wheel of the cart causing the whole thing to jump violently. For a moment, Balin looses his grip on the reigns and the goats take the chance to flee the roaring troll.

It’s all the white haired dwarf can do to cry out a “Hold on!” as they fly over another ledge, landing hard on the thankfully frozen river. Bilbo’s recovers quickly, glad to find all three of his companions safe.

He is less pleased when the troll announces it’s presence with a cry somewhere between a bleat and a roar, then crashes into the river behind them, smashing the ice up in an attempt to follow them.

Bilbo draws an arrow as it gains on them, and Dwalin bellows in his ear, “Shoot it!”

“Where?” He calls back, wondering if the troll has some sort of weak spot he can exploit.

“In it’s jam-bags!” The warrior yells over the top of the troll’s noise, a manic glint in his eyes.

The burglar turns and gives the bald dwarf his most withering glare, “And here I was hoping for some useful information.”

“Bilbo!”

At Ori’s cry the hobbit turns just in time to put an arrow through the beast’s hand. It pulls back with a screech of pain but continues after them, eyes now filled with rage and fixed on Bilbo.

It’s just about to make another grab for the cart when a welcome voice reaches their ears, “Hang on, Lads! I’m coming!”

A huge flail attached to a giant arm sweeps through the air overhead and slams into the chest of the creature chasing them. Bofur laughs, but the smile slips off his face when the weapon gets stuck and he is pulled down into the river along with his troll.

They watch nervously as the flail slips free and the enemy troll crashes a heavy axe-hand into the side of the other’s head. Bofur regains control as they face off, swinging a flail up and this time hitting the creature in the face.

The three dwarrow and hobbit cheer as they speed away, glad to see their friend gaining the upper hand. Just before they round the corner, Bofur’s troll is pulled forward by the other, sending him tumbling onto the ice as the two giant figures wrestle.

Bilbo sends a prayer up to whatever deity is watching for bofur to make it out before the trolls can catch him in the crossfire.

He doesn’t have long to worry about it however, because as they skid around the next bend another obstacle presents itself.

Another troll wades about, plucking any man, dwarf or elf that happens to come too close to the ledge it’s hiding behind and flinging them in every direction.

Dwalin sends a bolt into its fleshy hip, causing it to turn and roar when it spots them. Dwalin doesn’t relent with the shooter, sending bolt after bolt into the creature, and Bilbo joins in with an arrow here and there. Ori, bless his soul, flings stones with his slingshot and manages to get it in the eye.

As the troll howls in pain and covers it’s injured eye with a hand, it tilts its head just enough for Dwalin to send a bolt into its chin, then another, and another, then the beast tumbles backwards with a splash.

The goats use the troll’s corpse as a bridge across the gaping hole it left in the ice, and once again they cheer in victory. They’re all looking back until Balin cries out a warning.

“Wargs!”

Bilbo watches in horror as two of the salivating animals come screaming around the corner ahead. Strong jaws clap around the necks of the two front goats, pulling them from the chains attaching them to the cart. More leap down around them, some with orc riders.

Most fall to the bolt gun or the hobbit’s arrows, but as they sail over a frozen waterfall-turned-ledge one comes close enough to take a swing at him.

Bilbo ducks the sword and drops his bow, letting it clatter to the floor. He retrieves Sting from his hip and the blade’s glow illuminates the burglar’s features, especially the dangerous gleam in his eye.

The orc only has enough time to gulp before it’s head is rolling across the ice.

It’s body falls towards the cart, dragging the warg with it— directly into the spinning blade protruding from the wheel.

“Seventy-two.”

Both bodies are left far behind, but the wargs and orcs don’t stop coming. As one unfortunate warg is crushed between rocky wall and cart, another comes racing towards them, intent on the front left goat. Unfortunately for it, Bilbo has had just enough time to pick up his bow, and all it gets is an arrow through the eye. Dwalin gives him an appraising look, then looks back over his shoulder.

“There’s more coming!” He warns.

Bilbo glances at each of his companions, judging their expressions. Ori looks nervous while Dwalin looks annoyed as he turns to address his brother, “We’re pulling too much weight. We’ll never make it.” He points out.

Balin’s expression is unreadable. After a moment, the white haired warrior speaks.

“Cut the grazers loose. Ride them to Raven Hill.”

There’s something about his sentence that gives the bald headed dwarf pause.

“No, Balin.”

Before either can say more, Bilbo yells over the clink of the bolt gun (which Ori has taken up.) “All of you get on a blasted goat! I’ll cover you!”

“Bilbo, my goat riding days are over—“

“You know that there is nobody more capable of this than you, Balin. Now is really not the time to be a hero, we’re going to need you up there.”

“But—“

“Save me from the stubbornness of dwarrow! All of you!  _ Get on the goats.” _

There is no more argument as the three dwarrow scurry to comply. Ori and Dwalin take the first two, balancing on the metal bracer between the beasts. Dwalin makes short work of a warg and it’s rider that manage to slip past the hobbit, then the pair break the chains holding the goats in. No longer weighed down by the cart, they take off down the frozen river.

Balin clambers onto one of the remaining goats, then calls out to Bilbo.

“Come on, Master Baggins! It’s now or never!”

The burglar takes down another warg, which tumbles and crushes its rider, then hooks his bow over his shoulder. He dashes (and in a random moment of bravery) leaps and grabs hold of the goat’s saddle. Once he’s settled, he slams Sting down on the chain. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have dwarven strength behind him, and the blade glances off. He tries again to no avail. Thankfully, Balin notices just as he’s starting to panic and leans over to break Bilbo’s chain, then his own.

The hobbit shoots him a grateful look, then they charge on after the other two, leaving the cart to trip up a few remaining wargs.

The goat beneath Bilbo bleats, making him tense up. He gives the animal a glare, “Don’t you try anything.”

Balin gives him a look, as if questioning his sanity.

“Are ye right with that, laddie?”

He nods, “Sure, can’t be any worse than a slippery barrel in a raging current, can it? Or worse, Myrtle on a bad day.”

The old dwarf chuckles in response, as if he’s joking. He isn’t. That pony was a diva and a half.

The river comes to a towering bridge, and a lone rider and his goat gallop across it. Thorin spots them down below and raises his sword.

“Onward!”

“Lead on!” Dwalin shouts in reply, and the four of them guide their goats up the hill to meet him.

The King surges ahead, plowing through most of the orcs blocking their path. He snatches a spear off one and hurls it through another’s head, pulling it out the other side as he rides past. Bilbo slices the throat of one of the stragglers, flicking his little sword to get some of the black goop off of it.

With those few gone, he spurs his goat to catch up with Thorin, then they turn off the path, nimbly making their way up the hillside.   
  


-•-

Back on the battlefield, Nori and Fíli fight alongside a sulking Kíli. After the archer huffs for the fourteenth time in half as many minutes, the elder princeling cuts a goblin down and turns to face his brother. 

“Stop that! I like it as little as you, but Bilbo is just trying to protect us. You know he turns in to an old mother hen when we’re involved.”

“But we should be there to take down Azog! And if he’s so worried, why did he go? We’re way more experienced than him, what if he gets hurt!” Kíli pouts, shooting an orc in the neck.

“He’ll be fine, there’s no way uncle is going to let anything happen to him.”

At this, a smirk replaces the brown-haired dwarfling’s scowl, “You’re right. He’d set them on fire with his glare alone if one so much as looked at  _his_ hobbit.”

Fíli giggles (majestically, of course) and decapitates another orc with a twirl.

A few paces away, Nori swings his mace, smashing a goblin’s head in and keeping a close eye on the princes. Maybe if the hobbit had explained everything a few days beforehand Nori would have thought harder about magic rings and time travel, but since he barely got a chance to digest his friend’s outburst before being thrown into the battle to end all battles, the thief has other things on his mind. It takes a lot to earn Nori’s trust, but Bilbo has done just that, and if he says Fíli and Kíli are in danger, then Nori is going to protect them.

He’s been trying to keep track of the others as best he can, but in the throng of bodies it’s hard. He spotted Tharkûn taking on a huge troll at some point, and it looked like his staff was giving him grief. Óin was treating an elf’s wounds last Nori saw of him, while Glóin and Dori protected him. He has yet to see Bifur or Bombur since the cart rode off and to his alarm, he hasn’t seen Bofur for a while either.

He turns to check up on the princes, and cries a warning as a warg sneaks up on Kíli, who is distracted by two orcs. Before he can reach for his daggers, an arrow spears the wolf-like creature through the eye. The red headed elf races in to help the lad with the orcs while the blonde one jogs over to Nori. 

“Where is Bilbo? I must speak with him.”

“‘He’s gone up Raven ‘ill after Thorin. Whadda ya need ‘im for?”

“You would not understand, Master Dwarf. Raven Hill you said? That’s to the north, yes?” The thief nods in affirmation. The elf curses then turns to leave, muttering about suicidal hobbits and throwing a, “Thank you for your time.” Over his shoulder.

“Wait! What’s wrong with Raven ‘ill?” Nori is starting to get a sneaking suspicion about the elf prince’s behaviour, and after hearing Bilbo forbid Fíli and Kíli from going with their uncle. . .

The elf pauses but doesn’t answer, so the dwarf prompts “How much did Bilbo tell ya?” Which makes the blonde spin around.

“You know of his. . . Foresight?”

Nori nods, mentally cursing the hobbit for telling an  _elf_ before his good self.

“Aye.”

“And the second army?”

“Pardon?!”

“Oh. Well, now you do. Bilbo warned me of it a few days pass, Bolg will be leading it and it’s coming from the north— Raven Hill. They’re going to be overwhelmed up there, I must go.” And with that, he speeds off.

Nori stands dumbstruck, then glances between the princelings and Raven Hill.

“Bilbo, you over-protective idiot.”

A croaking growl sounds from behind him, and he spins around only to receive a bludgeon to his cheek. He yelps in pain as the skin splits and blood spills down his face, but the orc kicks him in the chest before he can do anything to retaliate. Head ringing, the thief rolls backwards across the ground while the creature advances, pushing him further away from the lads. He swears creatively, realising he dropped his mace in the fall.

The orc lifts its weapon, ready to bring it down on him while he’s winded. Nori braces himself for the blow, but it never comes. He gapes in confusion as the orc falls sideways, landing flat on its face and revealing an axe in the back of its skull.

A glove clad hand enters his peripheral.

He tears his gaze away from the orc and finds the appendage belongs to Bofur, who is looking rather concerned.

“Bo?”

“It’s me.” The miner helps him to his feet, resting a steadying hand on his shoulder.

“Thanks fer that.”

“Anytime. Are you alright?” His other hand comes up to wipe at some of the blood flowing from the wound, and Nori blushes at the tender caress.

“’M fine, trust me. Looks worse than ‘t is. What ‘appened to ya troll?”

Bofur bends down to wrench the axe out of Nori’s attacker, giving him a guilty grin. “He’s, uh. . . Goin’ for a dip at the moment.”

Deciding he doesn’t want to know as long as his friend is safe, the thief refrains from pressing for more. Instead he picks his mace up, swinging it at an approaching goblin and sending it hurtling back into another. He quickly checks on the princes, finding them alive and well.

“Have ya seen Ori?”

“Yup. Saw ‘im with the brothers Lin and Bilbo in one of Dáin’s war machines, ‘bout fifteen minutes ago.”

Nori sighs in relief, glad his little brother hasn’t managed to get himself killed on his mission yet.

“Good.”

At that moment, Bifur and Bombur join them and Nori does a double take upon seeing the berserker dwarf.

“Bifur?”

To his immense surprise, the toymaker immediately focuses on him and  _replies._

“Yes, Nori?”

“Uhh, Where’s yer axe?”

The dwarf just shares a glance with his brothers and laughs before throwing himself back into the fray.

Bofur shrugs at the stunned thief, “I’ll tell you later.”

“Right. Okay. That’s if we survive that long.”

“Don’t worry, Nori. The battle’s leaning in our favour.”

“I thought so too, but Prince Pointy jus’ came over rambling about a second army then ran off again.”

“Pardon?!”

“That’s exactly what I said.” Nori reflects, then flings a knife into the eye of an orc that has the hatted dwarf pinned. He helps his friend up.

“How long?”

“No idea. ‘E was off ‘fore I could ask.”

“How does he know?”

Nori shrugs, “Tell ya later.”

-•-

Bilbo clings to his goat, glad that it seems content to follow after Thorin’s as they speed up the icy paths. Dwalin keeps pace with the King while Ori and his mount disappear overhead and Balin takes up the rear. The clatter of hooves on stone and the clashing of blades echoes around them, losing them the element of surprise.

The higher they get, the more orcs they run into, and when the group reach the top Thorin gracefully slides off his goat, rolling as he hits the ground and killing two orcs in the same stroke. Dwalin circles the area, polishing off the remaining enemy with the help of Ori, who reappears from above.

They find themselves on a platform of sorts, probably the start of a bridge to the tower at some point. They all follow the King’s lead and dismount, their goats fleeing the eerie place as soon as they’re free.

Thorin is standing on the ledge above the ice, pale eyes searching the ruins for any movement. As Bilbo joins him, Ori murmurs, “Where’s he gone?”

“Maybe tha bastard’s fled?” Dwalin offers from where he’s checking on Balin. The older dwarf slaps his brother away, striding over to stand on the King’s other side.

“I don’t think we’re that lucky.”

“We need to get out of here as soon as possible. We don’t have time for games, Azog has another army coming from the north.” Bilbo frets. The others gape, so he continues, “What? Bolg went to Gundabad in the north, Azog’s army came from the south. This has been his plan all along.”

“This is a trap.” Ori gasps.

From Bilbo’s right, Thorin mutters, “We need to flush him out— quickly.”

He hums, “If only we had someone who could turn invisible and slip past all his defenses.”

Thorin’s head snaps down to find the hobbit staring determinedly up at him.

Dwalin huffs a grim laugh, oblivious to the pair’s silent debate, “Well, Master Burglar, if ye have any tricks up yer sleeves be our guest.” Balin and Ori start to chuckle.

Bilbo’s eyes remain glued to the King, who’s giving him a look that he knows translates to  _please don’t_ but his mind is already made up. He quirks a smile, fingers slipping into his pocket.

“Just the one.”

And then he’s gone.

-•-

Legolas darts between friend and foe, slashing at an orc, goblin or warg whenever the need arises. His piercing blue eyes search for one figure in particular, and it doesn’t take him long to spot him.

“Father!”

The Elven King’s head swivels in his direction, and he quickly dispatches the orcs hanging from his elk’s antlers in one clean swoop, letting their bodies fall. The two move towards each other, meeting in the middle.

“Legolas, are you well?”

“I’m fine, but another army approaches from the north, this one led by Bolg. King Thorin and a few of his companions have gone to Raven Hill to slay Azog, they will be ambushed. We need to send a group to aid them.”

Thranduil’s gaze flicks north, seeing what no mortal eye can see. Without taking his eyes off the hill, he calls to an red headed general nearby, “Dispatch your force to Raven Hill.” The elf immediately pulls out a horn, one long blast all that’s needed to gain the attention of fifty or so elves.

As they streak past the King, he turns back to face Legolas. The blonde prince smiles genuinely, a smile his father hasn’t seen directed at him since his wife’s death.

“Thank you, father.”

In the face of such gratitude, Thranduil can’t stop the edges of his mouth curling up.

Legolas places a hand over his heart, then lifts it in his father’s direction. The King does the same, and then the prince takes off after the Elven force.

-•-

“Bilbo, no! It’s too dangerous!”

“What in Mahal’s name—“

“Where’d he go? Bilbo!”

Dodging around Thorin’s grab for him, the hobbit whispers as close as he dares, “Please, trust me. I can do this.”

The raven haired dwarf pauses, “Bilbo. . .”

But the burglar is already halfway down the steps.

“Thorin, we’ve got company!” Balin’s words ring out behind him as he creeps across the ice.

“Goblin mercenaries.”

“No more than a hundred. Nothin’ we can’t handle, but not without you, cousin.”

The voices of his dwarrow fade away as Bilbo reaches the other side of the river. He tiptoes up a set of stairs, following a corridor to the left when he hears a thud. The Ring’s twisting shadows seem much darker than before, and a terrible whispering drifts about his mind.

He shudders, then trips over a rock.

He winces at the noise and freezes, but nothing happens. Relieved, he continues on.

Bilbo rounds another corner, searching for any sign of Azog and his fellows. He can hear the ringing of steel on steel amid goblin howls coming from the fight across the ice, but other than that it’s almost complete silence. Eventually even the sound of conflict fades, and it’s just the wind.

Another corner comes up ahead, but before Bilbo can duck around it, he notices the glow of torchlight reflecting off the icy walls. Silently, he backs away but when he turns the other corridors show the same, even the one he just came from. 

Terror wells in his gut, and he has to refrain from breathing heavily when the clank of armour or the odd growl reaches his ears. He looks around frantically only to discover no hidden alcoves or uninhabited exits, just narrow corridors branching off the point he is in.

Bilbo takes a deep breath, pulling out Sting. If he’s going down, it’s not going to be without a fight.

He spins, keeping an eye on every tunnel entrance, but as he does he notices chains hanging down the walls. They appear to be attached to the roof, probably once holding up lanterns, and a firm tug confirms they are sturdy.

Without a second thought, Sting is back on his hip and he’s climbing.

When he reaches a small ledge, he digs his feet in and clings to the top of the chain, trying to stop it from swinging as much as he can with his other hand. When the first orc rounds a corner beneath him, it is almost still, and the creature doesn’t notice. The rest spill out of the surrounding tunnels, and Bilbo doesn’t dare to so much as breathe.

One of his hunters makes an awful guttural noise, then turns on another, “I thought you said you heard someone! There’s no one here, you brainless lump!”

The other cowers in the face of the larger orc’s ire, whimpering pitifully.

“I heard it! Maybe we took a wrong turn?”

The first growls, grabbing the second by the throat.

“Hang on a minute, does anyone else smell that?” A third interrupts before a fight can break out. They all begin sniffing the air, and Bilbo’s heart rate picks up even more.

The first orc’s lip curls up in a sneer, a nasty laugh following. They start to circle the room, “Smells like  _fear.”_

“And honey!” the second pipes up, earning it a smack round the head. The first comes to the bottom of the chain, inhaling deeply. Bilbo’s thundering heart stops when it glance up, but thankfully it’s gaze passes over the invisible hobbit.

The scout party search for a while longer, getting frustrated when they find nothing.

Defeated, the first yells, “Alright, that’s enough! They must have snuck past one of you buffoons before we got here. You!” They point to the small orc, “go tell Azog we didn’t find anything. He’s not gonna be pleased.” The rest of you follow me, we’ll keep looking.”

Bilbo watches as the group files out, hardly believing his luck. The only orc scout left is the one tasked with telling Azog the bad news, and it appears to be psyching itself up before leaving.

After a moment of silence, it reluctantly enters a tunnel, and Bilbo makes his way back down the chain and follows after it, unsheathing Sting.

Soon enough, after much hysterical grumbling from the doomed orc, they come out into a large room. The walls are filled with small alcoves except for one which is floor to ceiling open, and if Bilbo was to guess he’d say the room used to be the nesting spot for travelling ravens.

Standing in front of the open window, Azog and his white warg are silhouetted against the stark landscape. He turns around when the nervous orc followed by Bilbo enters.

The pale orc booms something in black speech, and the scout bows and holds out their hands in a placating gesture, stuttering a reply. It whimpers when Azog growls, striding over to grab it by the throat.

Their exchange continues, then Azog drops the sniveling creature. It desperately clutches at it’s throat, breathing heavily while the pale orc walks back over to the window. Without turning around, he spits out another twisted word.

The white warg lets out a rumble, then charges over to sink it’s fangs into the neck of the unlucky orc.

Bilbo covers his mouth with a hand, turning away while the gargling screams slowly come to a stop. He creeps around the room, putting as much distance between the wolf-like animal and himself as possible. A strong breeze sweeps through the open wall, and the white beast’s head snaps up. It’s black-stained chops peel back to reveal ivory teeth, and a low growl escapes it’s throat.

Bilbo stands stock still as it sniffs the air, then he quietly gasps as glowing yellow eyes fix on the spot he’s occupying. The warg’s growl calls the attention of Azog and he turns, following its line of sight but seeing nothing.

Suddenly, the warg lets out a snarl and gallops towards him. In a flash Bilbo has Sting raised, and in the next moment, it’s through the forehead of Azog’s mount. With a wailing yelp, it falls. Thankfully his grip on his little sword is firm, and it comes free with a squelch.

Azog roars in confusion, brandishing his. . . Well. . .  _Sword hand_ at the air around him. Blood drips off Sting, becoming visible the second it leaves the blade. Sinister blue eyes zero in on the droplets, then he advances on the hobbit.

Bilbo darts forward, dodging around Azog then slicing his calf. The orc shrieks in pain, spinning around and knocking poor Bilbo with a muscular arm (thankfully not the weaponised one).

He hits the wall with an “oomph,” pain racing down his spine. Shaking his head to stop it from ringing, he looks up to see the pale orc charging again. Bilbo manages to roll out of the way then scramble to his feet, dashing to the door.

When he reaches it, he turns to the puzzled orc, then pulls the ring off.

Azog’s eyes immediately snap up to him, and a foul grin splits his face. He prowls in the hobbit’s direction, but before he can reach him, Bilbo slips out the door and starts running like he never has before.

Over his laboured and frantic breathing he hears a bellow from behind as Azog gives chase, which spurs his little legs to go faster.

-•-

The last goblin falls to Dwalin’s hammer, and while the others catch their breath, Thorin starts for the stairs leading to the ice.

Before he can reach them, however, Ori steps into his path.

“Thorin, you can’t. Azog set this trap to kill you.”

“I have to, Bilbo has been gone too long.” He makes to step around the scribe, but Ori doesn’t relent. “Ori, get out of the way.”

“No. For one, Bilbo would never forgive us if we let you barge in there after him, and for another, none of us want to see you get yourself killed. I’ll go instead.”

“Like hell ya will,” Dwalin rumbles. “You lot stay ‘ere, I’ll go an’ find ‘im.”

Balin steps forward, “Not so fast, brother. You three have many a year left, whereas I’ve lived a good long life. I’ll go.”

As his companions dissolve into argument, Thorin sighs and pinches his brow.  _Mahal save him._

Ori turns to jab a finger angrily at Dwalin, and Thorin seizes the opportunity. He darts around the young dwarf then sprints down the stairs, ignoring the cries of his fellows.

He expects they would have given chase, if the huge war bats of Azog’s second army didn’t choose that moment to arrive.

Repressing the urge to return and help the other three when he hears the battle cries of orcs, he crosses the ice and dashes up the first set of stairs he finds.

-•-

Bilbo tears back down the passageways, doing his best to follow his original route but somehow ending up outside a few floors up. His heart is beating fast as he leaps down a flight of stairs, the thud of heavy footsteps telling him Azog has yet to give up. Another set of stairs, and he can see the ice.

He’s about to hit the second last flight when Azog emerges from a tunnel he missed on his left, and he only just ducks the sword aiming for his neck. He cries out in fear, dodging the brutal swings as best he can.

The pale orc stumbles, and Bilbo slices his leg in the split second he has to do so. Azog howls, then spins around, hitting Bilbo in the chest with his mace and sending the hobbit tumbling down the stairs.

The wind is thoroughly knocked out of him, and he feels something crack. He gasps in pain as soon as he gets enough air in his lungs and tries unsuccessfully to get to his feet.

Azog laughs cruelly, slowly making his way down the stairs. Bilbo draws some satisfaction from the limp he is now carrying thanks to his little sword’s bite. At least he did  _something_ to disadvantage the horrid creature. The hobbit stares defiantly up at him as he advances, refusing to admit defeat.

“You cannot win. Your army will fall, and you with it.” He chokes out. Azog just grins, pulling his sword-arm back for the final blow.

“No!”

A blur of dark blue, black and silver slams into the orc, pushing him away from Bilbo. Gasping, he sits up to see Thorin beating Azog back with unforgiving blows from Orcrist. The Elven blade sings as it collides with both armour and pale flesh, and it’s all the orc leader can do to stay on his feet let alone return the onslaught.

Bilbo scrambles to his feet, injuries forgotten. He retrieves Sting from where it landed a few feet away, then rushes to help his King. He uses his size to his advantage, ducking behind to slash at Azog’s legs while Thorin distracts him.

The pale orc growls, attempting to hit either away, but missing when the hobbit and the dwarf both dart out of his reach. The pair circle him while he spins, trying to keep them in sight.

Before either can attack again, another orc leaps over a pile of debris with a screech, and Thorin is forced to spin around and engage it. Bilbo slices Azog’s chest before he can take advantage of the King’s exposed back, and the large orc’s wounded leg gives way, sending him tumbling down a ledge.

With him momentarily out of the way, the two fight together against the first wave of Bolg’s army, back to back, elvish blades a whirlwind of motion.

Eventually there’s a lull in the number of orcs around them, and as they make a run for the stairs back to the ice Bilbo gets a chance to say: “Thank you.”

“You need not, I should never have let him hurt you in the first place.”

“Oh nonsense, none of that was your fault, Thorin.” An orc charges him, crooked blade raised above it’s head. He sinks Sting between it’s chest plates, “Eighty-six.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Anyway, point is you saved me. So thank you.”

Thorin turns to face him, smiling playfully.

“You’re most welcome, Master Baggins.”

A roar startles them both, and Bilbo is suddenly slammed into Thorin. They both go flying over the edge of the platform, skidding out over the ice. 

Azog shouts something at his orcs, and they all converge on the dwarf and the hobbit. Thorin helps Bilbo to his feet, then they press their backs to each other’s once again, bracing for the fight.

The first orc reaches them on Bilbo’s side, and he prepares to counter. 

Before either he or orc can land a hit, however, an arrow wizzes through the air and imbeds itself in the creature’s forehead. 

As it falls, King and burglar whip around to see a lone archer atop a crumbling tower.

Bilbo laughs in delight, raising Sting to the heavens in greeting. The little blue sword glows like a beacon against the dark rocks and white ice.

Vowing to worry about how on earth Legolas managed to get up there in the first place, Bilbo returns to the problem at hand. 

Behind him, Thorin grunts with effort as he decapitates an orc while the hobbit struggles with another, at last sinking Sting into the enemy’s chest. He kicks it’s body back, keeping a firm grip on his black coated blade and letting it slip free. As soon as it’s gone, more take its place. Bilbo imagines they would have been overwhelmed had it not been for Legolas.

They slice and hack endlessly, and his arms ache by the time the numbers dwindle. His injuries from earlier throb with each heartbeat, especially his ribs. Legolas stopped firing arrows after a while, Bilbo assumes he ran out. His friend is no longer atop the tower either, but the hobbit cannot afford to worry about it yet. 

A shout of pain from behind him draws his attention, and Bilbo whirls around in time to see Thorin be flung off in the direction of the waterfall by an unnaturally large orc. His heart drops as the King skids towards the edge. 

“Thorin!”

He slices the back of the huge creature’s knee, using the distraction to slip past and run to his friend’s aid. Unfortunately, the nasty thing is barely deterred and grabs the hobbit’s arm, hurling him into a nearby wall

His head slams back against the stone, and his vision turns black at the edges. Thorin yelling his name is the last thing he hears before he succumbs to unconsciousness.

-•-

“Bilbo!”

Thorin watches in horror as Bilbo hits the rock hard, going limp as he slips down onto the ice. The orc barely gives the little hobbit a second glance, instead continuing to advance on him.

A red hot rage curls through him, spiralling upwards until it reaches his head and clouds his vision. Thorin is on his feet before he can think about it, hurtling into the one that dared to touch his burglar, Orcrist tearing through it’s neck before it can steal another breath.

The dwarf lets it’s corpse fall over the edge, mildly satisfied at the dull thud that echoes back up.

He spares not a second more, dashing over to kneel at his prone friend’s side. Thorin pulls Bilbo’s head into his lap, pushing copper curls back off his forehead and wincing at the way his arms flop lifelessly.

“No.” No  _no no no no_. Not Bilbo; not his hobbit. They can have him, but not Bilbo Baggins. His throat closes up and tears well in his eyes, but he refuses to let them fall, not when two fingers pressed to a delicate neck prove the little creature to still be alive. He will not give up on him so easily. 

Thorin is about to scoop him up and carry him back to Erebor when malicious laughter from further up the river makes him stiffen. Gently laying his friend’s head back on the ice, he turns to face his foe.

Azog leers at him, weapon pointed in his direction. The challenge is clear, and Thorin knows there’s no way to get Bilbo the help he needs without accepting it.

Not breaking eye contact, he gets to his feet and takes a few steps towards the pale orc, making sure to stay between him and Bilbo. All the while, cold blue eyes meet his, unnerving in their lack of emotion while the orc smiles.

A horn breaks the tension, and Azog turns his head to watch with a smug grin as the main bulk of his second army crests the hill. Thorin’s stomach drops.  _They don’t stand a chance._

But as doomed as they may be, he’ll die fighting if it means Bilbo has even the smallest hope of making it.

Azog roars, charging towards him. On the ground behind him he drags a large block of stone attached to a chain. Using it like a flail he spins it around above his head, then sends it flying at the King. Thorin ducks, then again when it comes around a second time.

He continues to evade the block, then when it hits the ice and sends Azog stumbling, he darts behind and slices a deep cut across the orc’s already injured legs. Azog cries out in agony, then flings the block back over his head. Thorin steps back to avoid it. As he watches the thick ice crack beneath them, an idea pops into his head.

He dashes to the side, ducking when the block sweeps towards him. Again the ice breaks, the cracks branching from both areas and joining in the middle. He keeps moving, and each time Azog’s makeshift flail hits a different section of the frozen river.

Finally, the breaks connects back to the first, and the ice beneath them becomes its own float. Desperately trying to keep his footing, Thorin throws his arms out for balance as they rock violently on the disturbed water.

Unfortunately, Azog uses his stationary moment to knock his feet out from under him. Thorin manages to avoid the flail coming back to finish him off by rolling to the side a few times, then when the stone slips into the water he scrambles to his feet and cuts into Azog’s stomach.

The orc gasps, giving Thorin a moment to catch his breath. Then the flail is coming towards him, so he shuffles back as far as he dares and it lands mere inches in front of him. Azog tries to free it, but in his weakened state he cannot find the strength. The orc lunges feebly at him but stops, watching something behind Thorin’s head with some sort of horrified fascination.

He doesn’t dare turn around to see, but relief fills his heart at the screech of an eagle from above. They’re saved!

Azog let’s out a frustrated cry as the great birds swoop and claw his second army, and again when a man-shaped figure falls from one and turns into an enormous bear before he hits the ground. They watch as a horn blows, and a squadron of elves rush out to aid the eagles and Beorn. Amongst them, Thorin spots Ori, Dwalin and Balin, and pride swells within him.

Thanking Mahal, the King laughs breathlessly, drawing the attention of his sworn enemy once again. Before the seething orc can react, Thorin picks up the block and shoves it into Azog’s arms, who catches it without thinking. He lets Orcrist clatter to the ice behind him, then steps backwards.

Azog screams as the float tips, sinking at his end. He scrapes and scratches at the tilting ice, trying to find purchase where there is none.

At last, he slips into the murky depths, one last gurgling roar leaving him.

Thorin stands stock still, taking in the scene around him and just breathing. Above, the eagles catch the war bats in strong talons, tearing them apart. Others pluck orcs off the shapeshifter when he’s overwhelmed by them, allowing him to shake the rest of and return to the fight. The elves switch between swords and their bows, each of their hits dealing mortal blows. His three Company members fight in a tight circle, Ori with his flail, Dwalin with his war hammers and Balin with his sword-axe. He can tell the fight is won. 

Thorin bends to pick up Orcrist, and movement beneath his feet catches his eye. He watches in morbid fascination as Azog drifts below the ice, glowing blue eyes fixed on him. Captivated, he follows him as he floats towards the waterfall. The pale orc’s eyelids slip closed, dead. He continues to follow the corpse, hoping for some sort of closure by watching it drop over the edge.

Suddenly Azog’s eyes fly open, and white hot pain shoots through his foot as a blade impales it.

Thorin roars in agony, unable to move as the orc smashes through the ice and pins him down. He does his best to deflect his blows, then when Azog goes to stab him he lifts Orcrist to block. His sword jams between the two points of his enemy’s crooked blade, and he presses back with all his might. 

Azog uses his weight to press down on him from above, smiling cruelly as his weapon nears the dwarf King’s heart.

Thorin decides there’s only one thing for it, and comes to terms with the fact that if he wants his nemesis dead, the only way out is to die with him.

Above him, Azog suddenly gasps, and looks down at his chest. Confused, Thorin follows his gaze. There, protruding from the gaps in his chestplates, is the tip of a glowing blue blade.

Azog chokes, black blood dripping from his lips. His eyes roll back then he falls to the side, revealing a battered but alive Bilbo Baggins.

“Not this time, asshole.”

The crippling pain from his foot fades away as Thorin stares up at the hobbit in awe, taking in the sight of him. Bilbo’s hair is matted with sweat and blood, and he’s breathing hard. One hand still holds Sting, and the other clutches his ribs.

He’s dirty and about five minutes away from falling over, but Thorin has never seen anything more beautiful.

The hobbit let’s out a huff, then closes his eyes. When he opens them, he turns away from Azog’s body and sheathes Sting. He looks at the King, smiling and offering him a hand, “Come on, Thorin. The eagles are here.”

He laughs and takes it, but makes sure not to put too much weight on his injured burglar. Once again on his feet, he can’t seem to take his eyes off Bilbo’s face.

His hobbit watches the eagles work, green eyes filled with wonder. His small hand still grips the dwarf’s larger one, and he gives it a squeeze.

Bilbo tears his gaze from the eagles, eyes meeting Thorin’s. Without another word, the King leans down and presses their lips together.

With a pleased sigh, Bilbo melts into the kiss. Their hands separate, but only for Thorin’s to find the hobbit’s small waist and Bilbo’s to reach up and tangle in his silver-streaked locks.

They stay like that for many minutes, a sense of rightness settling about them. Bilbo is the first to pull back, but he doesn’t go far.

They smile giddily at each other, neither wanting to part.

Thorin presses another kiss to his hobbit’s forehead. “We did it.” He whispers against dirty curls.

Bilbo hums in agreement, for once lost for words as he nuzzles into Thorin’s chest. They don’t speak again for a while, content to hold each other and watch while the rest of the orcs are pushed back, fleeing back through the tunnels they created.

Eventually, the adrenaline starts to fade, and Thorin remembers the hole in his foot amongst all his other pains. Bilbo quivers in his arms, which are possibly the only thing keeping the poor hobbit from collapsing.

“I think we need a healer.” Thorin declares.

Again, a hum of affirmation is Bilbo’s only response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Bagginshield! Everyone else’s fate will be revealed in the next chapter. Also what became of Legolas and Bolg? I wonder who won the bet?
> 
> Thank you all for reading! I would die for every one of you :’)


	13. The Aftermath

The battle further up the slope wraps up relatively quickly, and they’re luckily discovered by their friends before they can attempt the long climb down by themselves.

Now, Bilbo is sat on Beorn’s back in his bear form, trying his best to hold on despite his dizzying headache. Behind him is Thorin, who is utterly displeased with the situation but had been forced up by the three dwarrow after the burglar to keep him steady.  


Well, that’s what they told him, but Bilbo assumes it’s only half of the truth after seeing the worried looks exchanged between the them when they noticed the dark spots of blood Thorin’s foot was leaving behind on the ice.

The elves are split into two, half leading them down the winding path and the other half trailing after them. A few had raced off ahead, assumedly to report back to those treating the injured below. The Company members walk beside them where they can, ready to help if either of them were to fall.

As they slowly (_maddeningly_ slowly) descend, Bilbo recalls the events of Raven Hill.

Most of his experiences are horrid and nightmare-inducing, and he can tell they will guarantee him many sleepless nights, but there is one that will be remembered for better reasons. . .

He blushes, the warmth at his back suddenly very distracting to his fuzzy brain.

_Right, moving on!_

Stars swirl at the edges of his vision, and he sleepily watches the last eagle disappear into the distance. Most of them had taken off almost immediately, only one pausing to drop Radagast somewhere on the plain and possibly have a conversation with Gandalf. In his dazed state, Bilbo makes a serious note to send the great birds a gift basket as thanks for their aid in the fight.

That is the hobbit’s last vaguely coherent thought, as a moment later he’s slipping back into unconsciousness.

-•-

Legolas stands on a edge of a platform high up in one of Raven Hill’s towers, watching the orcs’ retreat with a mixture of relief and apprehension. The battle is over, but what about the war? Too many of their enemy escaped, and while creature’s of evil exist, there is no way for the people of middle earth to be at peace.

Those that lived today will just return to terrorise some unsuspecting settlement later on, one with nowhere near the defences they had today. The elf sighs. No, this is just the beginning of their problems.

The sound of footsteps on stone pulls him from his morbid contemplation, and he turns to see his father emerge from an archway. Thranduil steps over the corpse of Bolg then glides over to stand at his side, placing a comforting hand on the Princes shoulder, almost as if he can sense his troubled thoughts.

_Perhaps he can,_ Legolas thinks. The Elven King has done some rather impossible things in the past, mind reading is not so far fetched.

After a few minutes of silence, Legolas speaks.

“I cannot go back home.”

“I know.”

He turns to look at his father in mild surprise. He had been expecting more of a resistance, honestly.

Thranduil continues, “This battle is mere glimpse of what is to come. The orcs will return, a new leader will rise amongst them, and to remain ignorant to the happenings of the world is to bring an end to our people. The days ahead will require alliances between the free folk of this land, I was wrong to isolate our people in the past and I will not make the same mistake again. You have a kind heart, my son, and I know you too well to think you will be content to stay by my side while evil taints the earth; not while your skill could be used elsewhere.”

Legolas feels his throat begin to tighten; his fathers confirmation making reality just a bit more real. He has no idea where to even start, all he knows is he cannot help from the relative safety of the Greenwood. His path lies elsewhere, but he doesn’t know where to find it.

Thranduil turns away from the ledge, prompting the elf prince to do the same. His father’s hand once again finds his shoulder, and he smiles softly.

“Go north to the Dúnedain, there is a young ranger among them you should meet. His father was a good man, I think his son could grow to be a great one, but first you must say your goodbyes. I do not wish to be the one to tell those who are fond of you that you left without a word.”

Legolas laughs, glad to have a lead. “I don’t think I would make it very far, they’d find a way to catch up and berate me.” Thranduil chuckles, and he basks in the satisfaction of it for a moment. “What is his name? The ranger I mean.” He asks as they make their way through icy tunnels of stone.

“Among those in the wild he is known as ‘Strider’. His true name you must discover for yourself.” The King replies, a smirk and a glint in his eye that suggests there’s more he could be telling him. Knowing that pressing will get no more information out of the stubborn elf, Legolas nods.

They come out onto the broken ice, barely sparing the bloody scene or the pale corpse in the middle of it a second glance. Other than orc bodies and his father’s elk who is patiently waiting on the other side of the river, the ruins are deserted.

He gives the beast a pat on the nose before climbing up after the King, glad to see he survived. As Thranduil directs the elk back down the trail, Legolas looks Northwards over his shoulder.

_Strider_ _,_ he wonders to himself.

_Interesting. _

-•-

Bilbo is only out for the duration of the trip down, and when they hit the bridge he regains consciousness, feeling slightly less like he has been run over by a herd of trolls.

The battlefield is absolute chaos. Dwarrow, men and elves alike rush around the bodies littering the ground checking for survivors, but sadly many of the figures they approach are left behind.

A few tents are set up on the plain, but most of the wounded are moving in the direction of the mountain, leaning on the more-able or in some cases being carried on stretchers. Beorn joins the flow heading for the gates.

Thorin’s arm tightens around his stomach as they ride past a brown haired dwarf wailing in despair over the corpse of another. They look similar, Bilbo wonders if they might have been brothers. As they leave the sad scene behind, the hobbit murmurs, “It’s not your fault, Thorin. There is nothing you could have done.”

A sigh, then “I know, but I can’t help but feel that maybe I shouldn’t have called them here.”

“If you hadn’t, right now Azog would be counting coins in your treasury rather than developing a thin layer of ice up on Raven Hill. It had to be done— I know it’s tragic but it  _had_ to be done. You’re not to blame.”

Thorin is quiet for a second, then he lefts go of Beorn’s fur with his other hand so he can wrap both arms around Bilbo’s middle, gently resting his chin on his head.

“You seem to always know just what to say, Master Baggins, even when you’re half delirious. Thank you.”

The burglar scoffs softly to hide his flaming cheeks, “‘M fine. But you’re welcome, my King.”

A shout catches Bilbo’s attention and he turns his head to pinpoint the source, wincing at the sharp pain that the sudden movement provokes. Through the crowd he glimpses two familiar heads weaving between bodies, one blonde and one brown.

He calls for Beorn to stop, then grudgingly accepts the help Dwalin offers in getting down. He can’t help but snigger at the sight of Thorin being lifted down carefully after him by the burly dwarf.

Feet (kind of) firmly on the ground, he staggers in the direction he saw the Princes, leaving his King to trail after him. Bilbo morns the loss of the bear’s height as he strains to see anything, squinting against the ache in his head. Just as he is about to give up and return to Beorn, Kíli pushes between two elves, spotting him and charging over.

“Bilbo!”

The dwarfling is in his arms before he can react, hugging him tightly. His ribs hurt and his head spins but he pushes it aside to properly return the embrace. Not a moment later Fíli joins them, and he’s pulled in next to his brother.

Bilbo kisses the tops of both their heads, tears brimming in his eyes.  _They’re safe. Thank Yavanna, they’re safe. He hasn’t lost them._ Thorin limps over and the boys sob in relief, moving to latch on to their uncle.

Bilbo notices Tauriel awkwardly standing nearby, and stumbles over to hug her as well, whispering “Thank you.” In one pointed ear when she leans down to accommodate him. Her only response is a gentle squeeze.

When they pull apart Bilbo checks them all for injuries, wiping his dwarflings’ wet cheeks. Kíli and Tauriel seem relatively unharmed other than the odd smattering of bruises or a shallow cut, but Fíli has a rather deep gash running down the right side of his face, starting at the tail of his eyebrow. He also appears to be favouring his left arm.

After he’s finished fussing, Kíli looks him up and down.

“You look half dead.” The brunette declares. “Let’s find you a doctor— you and Fíli too, uncle. You’re leaving a blood trail.”

They return to where they left Beorn, Balin, Ori and Dwalin; Kíli supporting Thorin’s weight while Fíli and Tauriel hover either side of Bilbo incase he keels over, which he is forced to admit seems rather likely considering his blurry vision.

He is extremely relieved to find more of the Company have gathered, many remarkably well off. Dori has Ori wrapped tightly in his arms while Glóin and Dwalin clasp each other’s forearms and bump their heads together. Óin hurries over from where he is talking to Balin to fuss over Thorin, Fíli and Bilbo as soon as they arrive.

Nori, Bofur, Bifur and Bombur emerge from the direction the princes came from a few minutes later, and are sucked into the hugs and head butts the Company are exchanging (minus Bilbo, he’s had quite enough head afflictions thank you very much). The hobbit immediately approaches Nori, tugging the thief in for a grateful embrace, only mildly surprised when his enthusiasm is returned and strong arms clasp around him.

“Thank you for keeping them safe, my dear Nori.”

“Same ta you, Bilbo.” His friend tilts his head, and Bilbo follows his gaze to Ori, who is grinning widely as Dwalin awkwardly presses their foreheads together and can’t help the smile that splits his face.

“They make a rather fine couple, don’t you think?” He muses innocently.

Nori scowls, but the fond look in his eyes gives him away. “Tha bastard better keep ‘is paws to ‘imself if ‘e wants ta keep ‘em.”

Bilbo giggles in response.

Now they’re all here, he can see that most of his dwarrow seem perfectly fine. Thorin has his wounds from the fight with Azog and his orcs, and Fíli took an arrow to the shoulder (not poisoned thankfully), but other than them everyone is only slightly bruised or scraped. In fact, Bifur actually seems better off. He no longer has his axe, and is currently having a conversation with Glóin about dwarven nervous systems.

Beorn gently but insistently noses him, then lowers his stomach to the ground.  


Taking the order for what it is, Bilbo reluctantly asks Dwalin to lift him back up. Thorin is once again shoved up after him, not that he protests overly much, and the shapeshifter continues on his path to the gates of Erebor with their Company trailing along behind like ducklings.

Inside is no less chaotic than outside, and Óin takes the lead, making his way over to the busy healers to converse with them. Bilbo misses the conversation, distracted as he is by the sight before him.

It would seem that while they were fighting, those who stayed behind had found the infirmary and dragged sickbeds and medical supplies up to the entrance hall. Many of Bard’s people rush about, either tending to wounds or dashing out to help bring people in. Not one person is without a job.

Tilda appears with armfuls of bandages, eyes lighting up when she spots the group. “Miss Tauriel! Sigrid come on!” The girl races over, ignoring the massive bear she has to weave around in favour of the startled she-elf, but grinds to a halt in front of Fíli with a gasp. “You’re bleeding! Come with me, I’ll find someone to patch you up.”

She grips the blonde princeling’s right arm, tugging him off into the hall just as Sigrid fights her way over. The young woman looks tired beyond her years, and the cut running dangerously close to her neck along with her dirty leather armour suggest she wasn’t as far removed from the battle as her father might have liked.

She sighs as she watches her sister dart away, then joins their group, warily eyeing Beorn.  


Tauriel glides over and places a hand on her shoulder. “Are you well, Sigrid? You look exhausted.”

“I’m fine, I just need to find my father and Bain. Have you seen them recently?” She asks with a weary smile.

“No, I’ll help you look for them. Kíli?”

She sounds carefully indifferent when she asks, but there’s a hopeful tome to the question, and Bilbo can tell just how uncomfortable the idea of separating now is to the pair.

_I know the feeling._

Kíli’s eyes find his uncle’s, and Bilbo chuckles discretely at the dwarfling’s pleading puppy eyes. Thorin hesitates, clearly not too keen on having both of his nephews out of his sight so soon after reuniting with them.

The hobbit leans back against him, “Let him go, he’ll be restless otherwise. Besides, everyone is coming inside now, so he won’t be long.” He whispers.

With a barely audible exhale, Thorin nods his consent. Kíli smiles gratefully up at the King, then joins the two women. As they disappear into the throng, Óin returns with a two slightly unsure looking teens— a dark skinned boy with a warm smile and a green-eyed girl with bright red curls.

“Alright! Now let’s find you somewhere less crowded.” The old healer announces, then looks around with a frown while the girl gestures for them to follow her. “Where’s that prince gotten to?”

Nori pats him on the shoulder as they start to move again, “Ya were too slow, ol’ man. Tha lass got to ‘im first.”

-•-

Only a few members of the Company follow them all the way to the medical wing of the mountain while the rest stay behind to help with the cleanup and transferring other patients further inside after them.

Other than Bilbo, Thorin, Beorn and Óin, the small party is made up of Bofur, Nori, Dwalin, and Balin. The teens chatter quietly as they enter the hall, darting ahead to prepare two cots.

The room already has some occupants and a few healers flit between them, but they make room for the huge bear as he lumbers towards the back wall. Bilbo is lifted down first and ushered onto a cot by Óin, followed closely by Thorin who is forced onto the one to his right.

His brain still feels muddled, and drowsiness is setting in fast. He tries to keep his eyes open while the girl returns with some water and sets about removing the layer of muck coating his face, but suddenly his eyelids weigh more than the entire treasure horde, and they’re slipping closed. . .

Only for him to wake up a few hours later to find himself relatively clean; at least, his hair is no longer caked with blood at the back and his ribs don’t feel like they are attempting to gouge their way free of their flesh prison.

A quick glance assures him Thorin is still there, chest evenly rising and falling and eyes closed in peaceful slumber. Apparently Bilbo wasn’t the only one exhausted by the battle. The curtains are pulled closed around them, but beyond them he can hear the sounds of busy healers and those assisting calling out to each other and asking patients questions.

Looking down at himself, he sees his top half of clothing has been removed and replaced by thick white bandages wrapping around his torso. He prods at the patch which only just covers the blossom of bruising on his rib cage, knowing that underneath it is most likely Óin’s foul smelling salve. He grimaces, hoping that he’s lucky enough to be unconscious the next time it’s applied as well.

He lifts a hand to the back of his scull gently, feeling more bandages there too. Oh dear, he must look mighty foolish indeed! All wrapped in white bandages with his shirt nowhere to be found. . .

He gasps at the realisation and frantically looks about for his mithril shirt.  _Thorin_ gave that to him, and it wouldn’t do for him to lose it! He breathes a sigh of relief when he spots it draped over a nearby table, with all their gear piled around it. He is extremely gladdened to see his lovely little sword leaning proudly next to Orcrist, and his bow propped next to them.

Bilbo finds his gaze slipping back to the sleeping King, gut churning with worry. Thorin’s foot is bandaged heavily and the various other cuts are tended to, including the rather nasty gash that has split his right eyebrow.

That one will leave a scar.

His skin has also been cleaned up as much as it can be, pale and slightly rosy from the chill of the hall. Bilbo knows he’s staring shamelessly at this point, but he can’t tear his eyes away from the King’s peaceful face.

That is, until the curtain is suddenly flung open and Nori unceremoniously waltzes in with a jug of water and a plate of bread.

The thief’s eyes immediately find his, face splitting into a grin.

“Bilbo, yer awake!” He leans back out and calls, “Oi! Our hobbit’s conscious again!” and suddenly dwarrow are streaming in to surround his cot.  


It would seem most of the Company have joined them, minus Fíli (who is hopefully resting), Kíli (probably still with Tauriel) and Dwalin, who is standing guard. They chatter over each other until Óin shoves his way through.

“Give the lad some space! Back. Back!” The healer snaps. He then proceeds to bombard the poor burglar with questions, all of which go completely over Bilbo’s head. 

It’s all a bit much, and he clutches at his blanket and shuts his eyes, giving his head a shake in hopes of rattling something back into place so he can understand what the old healer is saying. 

“Enough.”

The firm voice has all present heads swivelling to it’s source, which turns out to be a drowsy Thorin. 

“Can you not see that you’re overwhelming him?” the King continues, “The last thing Master Baggins needs right now is your lots shouting over his sick bed. Óin, you’re not being as quiet as you seem to think. His head is most likely aching enough without you yelling in his ear.” he scolds.

His friends all shoot him suitably guilty looks, mumbling apologies.

Bilbo chuckles, “It’s alright, it warms my heart that you all care enough about me to be here, but the noise  _was_ a bit much.”

“Sincerest of sorries, Master Baggins!” Dori cry’s, bowing low, “Is there anything we can do to make up for it?” The others earnestly gaze at him, eager for an order. Bilbo smiles affectionately at the sight.

“Well, I was rather hoping that that bread Nori is holding is for us.”

Nori looks down at the plate and jug that had been forgotten in their excitement, then hurries to hand the goods over while being quietly reprimanded by his older brother. Bilbo breaks the loaf in two, giving one half back to the thief for Thorin.

“Thank you.” A cup of water is thrust into his hands after the bread, and he gulps it down gratefully. After finishing, he glances mournfully at the empty plate. Doing his best impression of Kíli’s puppy dog eyes, the hobbit turns hopefully to the Company.

“Do you suppose we can spare any more?”

He’s met with an enthusiastic chorus of “Yes of course, Master Baggins!” then his dwarrow are tripping over themselves to find them some other portion of food, dragging the more sensible of the lot behind them.

Thorin rasps a laugh when they’re alone, “At last, some quiet.”

“Enjoy it while it lasts, they’ll be back.” Bilbo grins.

“And to think I assumed I would get some sleep now the battle is over.”

“Ahh, you of all people should know by now they’re an immutable lot. There will be no silence while the Company is around to fill it.”

“How could I forget.” Thorin returns his expression, then it turns into something softer. “How are you feeling?”

“Better. It’s all still a bit hazy but my head is much clearer. And you? How is your foot?”

Thorin grimaces, turning the pile of bandages at the ankle tenderly, “It hurts.” Is all he says. Something about that tugs his heart and makes Bilbo want to wrap the dwarf in his arms.

Alas, he is bedridden and shirtless.

That thought makes him rather uncomfortable, and he does his best to pull the blankets up to his chin while he nods sympathetically and hopes to be given the all clear from Óin soon.

“I’m sorry they woke you up. You needed that rest.”

The King chuckles, “Yes, me too.”

Once again, the curtain swings open, this time with only Ori and Dwalin. The warrior nods to Bilbo before striding over to Thorin’s bedside, clasping his cousin’s arm gently. Meanwhile, Ori busily refills their cups and sets some plates on the table. Bilbo’s stomach rumbles at the sight and smell of food.

“Where are the others?” He wonders out loud.

Ori gives him a kind smile, “They’re waiting outsides. They will get a chance to see you later on but you both need to recharge first. That being said; Dwalin didn’t get to barge in with us before so he’s an exception.”

The bald dwarf looks up at this, eyes softening as they meet the scribes. Bilbo shares a grin with Thorin while the pair gaze at each other, barely containing a giggle. The two snap out of it with twin blushes, then finish up in the sick bay.

As they’re leaving, Ori throws a “Sleep well.” and a smile over his shoulder.

“Thank you, Ori!” Bilbo calls after him.

After tucking into his food and downing the water, he starts to drift off again. A glance at Thorin reveals the King to be in a similar state of sleepiness, and a content smile curls his lips as he finally succumbs to exhaustion.

-•-

The next time he wakes, the first thing he notices is the noise outside their curtain has dwindled to a quiet murmur. The second is the fact they are not alone.

“Gandalf?”

The Grey wizard startles in the seat that must have been fetched for him, then his friendly blue eyes meet the hobbit’s.

“Bilbo, my friend! You’re awake at last. How are you faring?”

“I’m well! Just a bump on the head and a possibly broken rib for me. What of yourself?” Bilbo smiles, glad to see the old man. He never doubted that he would survive, but the confirmation is relieving.

“Excellent, my good fellow! Dare I say this whole endeavour turned out rather well.”

“If I’m being entirely honest, I could have done without most of it.” He grouches half-heartedly.

“Nonsense! I would say you are right where you belong.” Gandalf winks, following it up with a pointed look at Thorin, “Speaking of which; I shall be heading back west in a fortnight, and you must decide if you shall be joining me.”

Bilbo’s stomach leaps. “So soon?” He asks.

“I’m afraid I’m needed elsewhere. You shall have to choose who Bilbo Baggins is to be, my dear hobbit, and who he will surround himself with.” Gandalf pushes himself up with a huff, “Let me know your decision as soon as possible, but for now, there are others who wish to speak with you, I shall take my leave. Get well soon, my friend.” And with that he slips back out, leaving the poor hobbit in turmoil.

He looks over at the other bed; at the dwarf sleeping on it. Bilbo knows where his loyalties lie, but what if his heart? Bag End has been his home for his whole life, can he really give it up?

He is forced to push the thoughts aside to stew over later as he is once again joined.

A grin splits his face, “Legolas!”

His friend grins back, striding over to clasp his hand, “Master Baggins! I’m glad you’re awake. How are you feeling?”

The hobbit heaves a put upon sigh, “Annoyed. I told you to call me Bilbo.” He grumbles, causing the elf to laugh.

“Well, if you’re well enough to sass me, you must be alright.”

Bilbo fails to repress the smirk building, then gives up and let’s it win.

“I’m glad to see you, my friend. How are you? I saw you up on Raven Hill but then you disappeared.”

“Yes, I went after Bolg. He was scaling the side of the ruins, looking for a spot to fire down at you two from. He nearly found one too, I got there as he was loading an arrow.”

Bilbo’s heart stutters as he realises just how close they had come to death without even knowing it. He’d spent the fight worrying about the Azog and hadn’t even considered what Bolg would be up to without. . . Well, with Kíli and Tauriel down on the plain. “It would seem I owe you my life yet again. Thank you.” He says sincerely.

Legolas waves him off, “No need. Ending Bolg’s pitiful existence was a pleasure. Which brings me to why I’m here. I came to say goodbye.”

“Ah. Back to Mirkwood?”

“No, I can’t go home just yet; not while the world is still plagued by evil. I’m heading north, my father tells me there is a man amongst the Dúnedain I should meet.”

Bilbo takes in this new information, “So I will not see you for a while? Do you have any idea how long you will be away?”

Legolas shakes his head, “I cannot be sure, but I promise we will meet again. I’m sure you owe me a drink.” He adds with a grin.

Bilbo smugly grins back, “Don’t be so sure. I counted ninety-eight slain by my hand.” He states proudly. His friends eyebrows raise in surprise.

“That’s a large number for someone so small, I’m impressed! However, I myself achieved a total of one-hundred and nine.”

The hobbit’s grin fades and his jaw drops. “One of mine was Azog, surely that has to count for something!” He cries.

“Sorry, Bilbo, but it still only counts as one.” The elf chuckles.

“Well you haven’t won yet! Kíli and Tauriel are still in the running.” He sulks.

“True enough. I will be finding Tauriel to say my goodbyes when I leave you, I suppose I shall ask them then.”

At the reminder of his friend’s departure Bilbo’s expression saddens, “When do you leave?”

“As soon as I’ve said my farewells.” Legolas smiles regretfully, “I wish I could stay longer, but the orcs will not take long to regroup. I am needed elsewhere.”

“I understand, I must not keep you any longer then.” The elven prince nods, rising from his place beside the cot. As he turns to leave Bilbo cries, “Wait!” Making Legolas turn and raise an eyebrow in question.

Struggling around his likely broken ribs and wincing at the dull throb of his head, Bilbo manages to sit on the edge of the bed. He then gets to his feet determinedly, only wobbling a little bit. Legolas rushes to aid him, only to be pulled down into a hug.

“Please be safe.”

Arms gently close around him as the elf returns the embrace.

“I will.”

After a moment he is guided back to the cot, which he gratefully drops onto.

Legolas tuts, “And  _you_ must not push yourself, Master Hobbit.” He reprimands earning a slap on the arm.

_“Bilbo.”_

“Alright, alright. Farewell, Bilbo.”

“Farewell, Legolas. Safe travels.”

And with one last nod, he’s gone.

Not long later he’s starting to get painfully bored when there’s a commotion outside, then the curtain is being shoved aside and a whirlwind of limbs and messy brown hair is rushing in.

“Bilbo!”

Kíli slithers onto the cot beside him, weaving his arms carefully around the hobbit’s bandaged middle.

Bilbo laughs and pats the brunettes hair affectionately while the prince tucks into his uninjured side, “Hello, Kíli. Where’s Tauriel?”

“She’s still with Legolas, they are going to see his father. He said you were awake so I came here.” A muffled voice replies.

“I see. Did you find Bard then?”

“Yep! he was talking to that Alfrid guy, turns out he dressed like an old woman to avoid fighting in the battle. Bard told him to leave.”

“Good riddance I say.”

Kíli giggles, “That’s cold, Master Boggins. Very cold. Aren’t you meant to be the friendly, forgiving little hobbit?”

“‘Friendly’ and ‘forgiving’ is not how I would describe myself, no.” He scoffs, mind once again straying to Lobelia and his precious spoons. That woman will know nothing of forgiveness when he next meets her.

Kíli takes one look at his no doubt spiteful face and is overcome with laughter. He almost falls of the bed, tossing and turning next to a rather put out Bilbo. In the end the burglar gives up on being offended and joins in the dwarfling’s humour.

Bilbo’s ribs start to protest, and he winces. A heavy soreness has set in to his bones, and he knows he will be feeling it for a while.

He thumps his head back on the pillow, letting out a sigh.  _And I wouldn’t change a thing,_ he thinks, carding his fingers through the princelings hair while he listens to the King’s gentle breathing.

_I’d do it all every day if it means they’re safe._

-•-

A while later, Thorin groggily wakes up thirsty. He quickly drains the cup waiting for him beside the bed, savouring the cool water as it soothes his dry throat.

Quenched, he makes to put the empty vessel back on the table, then double takes as he glances at the cot beside his.

Bilbo is snoring quietly, curls flopping over his eyes while he sleeps. Tucked under one arm is one brunette dwarfling who is without a doubt too big to be there, but looks as if he belongs anyhow. Thorin cannot see Kíli’s face from his angle, but the two radiate a peacefulness that seems to be contagious.

Baffled by the warmth that swirls in his heart at the sight of his youngest nephew and his. . . His  _Bilbo_ so at ease, Thorin’s features soften in adoration as he watches the pair. 

Not long later, the King settles back in to sleep with a smile .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. . . I know absolutely nothing about medieval healing practices so I’m very sorry. 
> 
> I struggled with this chapter cause despite the fact that I have plans for the future, I could not work out how to get there! 
> 
> Also, I recon Bilbo is definitely someone who ignores his own pain to comfort others, and his boys needed comfort after that battle :’(
> 
> Along those same lines, yes, my version of Kíli is very affectionate and touchy, simply because this is probably his first big battle on a large playing field where he didn’t get to have eyes on those he loves at all times. It’s an emotional experience for a younger person and Bilbo is there to help him through it considering he is in a similar situation. What I’m getting at is all the characters needed more hugs and I’m here to provide!
> 
> Tauriel and Sigrid! A power duo! If you like, picture the two fighting in the battle together.
> 
> It’s a wonderful image :D
> 
> Anyway, let me know if you enjoyed, sorry for the wait!
> 
> I love y’all <3


	14. Final farewells

Two days later, a kingdom-wide funeral is held for all those who lost their lives. 

Bilbo instantly recognises the hall they gather in, gladdened by the lack of three dwarven bodies laid to rest atop podiums. He recalls the empty feeling of staring down at his friends lifeless faces, and finds himself seeking them out to calm the irrational panic beginning to well in his gut.

Thorin (who insisted on being there despite his injuries) stands with Balin while they await the signal from Dale, leaning on a crutch and looking as healthy as possible considering recent events. Fíli and Kíli turn as one as if sensing Bilbo’s eyes on them, shooting him twin reassuring smiles and gesturing for him to join them. 

When Bilbo makes his way over they tug him in between them, each placing a hand on his shoulder. The blonde gives him a ‘we should talk later’ look, reminding him of their conversation on the battlements. 

He owes the princelings an explanation. 

They stand in silence as the sound of a horn rings clearly across the plain between two kingdoms and Balin begins listing the names of every dwarf, elf and man who lost their life in what is has been named the Battle of Five Armies. Feeling slightly guilty, Bilbo thanks Yavanna that none of his friends names are called out.

After the older dwarf finishes, Thorin steps forward to announce an annual day of remembrance to honour the fallen. 

After the ceremony, Bilbo leaves the princes and drifts between allies. First, he finds Beorn and Radagast talking with Gandalf. The brown wizard looks uncharacteristically solemn, even the little bird perched on his shoulder hangs it’s head.

As the three spot him coming, Beorn’s face softens in a small smile. “Good to see you better, little bunny. How is your head?”

Bilbo’s nose twitches at the unwelcome nickname, but he grins politely and nods, “Yes, much better thanks, and thank you for you help; during the battle and after it. I doubt Thorin and I would have made it back down that hill without you.”

Beorn bows his head, saying nothing. A man of few words, it seems.

“What will you do now?” the hobbit asks.

“I will return to my animals. While I am away their safety is not guaranteed, I will travel with the grey wizard when he leaves.”

Beorn’s words remind him of the decision he has to make, causing his smile and stomach to drop.

The clock is ticking.

A hand on his shoulder startles him, and he looks up to see Gandalf give the skin changer an indecipherable look. When the wizard looks back down to meet the hobbit’s eyes he smiles gently.

“Come, master Baggins. There are plenty of people who wish to speak with you, me being one of them.”

Bilbo nods, then turns to Beorn. “I suppose I shall see you around?”

“Yes. Until we next meet, little bunny.” The skin changer bows.

Before he can take offence at the title, Gandalf guides him away in the direction of a large group of Iron Hills dwarrow.

Bilbo is uneasy as they approach, unsure of what the group will think of him and why he’s being led there in the first place.

“Don’t worry, Bilbo. Dáin has been singing your praise since he was told what essentially happened on Raven Hill. He’s been adamant about finding out the rest from you for a few days now. As for that matter, am I.”

All of a sudden a loud voice starts shouting unintelligibly amongst the dwarrow, then the two closest to the hobbit and wizard are flung to either side, Dáin striding out from the gap. As soon as he spots Bilbo he throws his arms wide, yelling a bit more. “Master hobbit! I’m glad to see ya survived that pale bastard. I ‘ad a feelin’ it’d take more than an ugly orc ta slay a fiery wee lad like you!”

Bilbo grins, insecurities forgotten as Dáin plants a hand on each of his shoulders firmly in greeting, kindly leaving the head butting out.

“It’s good to see you again, Dáin.”

“Ya ‘ave ta tell me how ye managed ta defeat Azog— I’d ask me cousin but Thorin’s always so stingy when it comes ta details.”

The other dwarrow present shuffle closer to listen as well, making Bilbo blush.

“Well, to be honest Thorin did most of the work, I was unconscious—“

“Nonsense.”

Bilbo jumps at the new voice behind him, spinning to see the King stride over, followed by Dwalin and Balin. Thorin grins at him, then his cousin, “Why are you hassling my burglar, Dáin? This is one instance where I am happy to share the tale.”

Dáin places his hands on his hips and laughs, “Well come on then! I want ta hear how your halfling bested that bastard!”

“Well, lets start with how he ran off by himself into a trap while we were distracted by a band of goblin mercenaries. . .” Thorin leaves out the part about him disappearing and the brothers Lin don’t react, other than Dwalin giving him a conspiratorial wink. Bilbo shoots all three of them a grateful look.

“. . . And the last goblin fell. I went after master Baggins when he failed to return—“

“What happened when you were by yourself, lad? How did you survive the trap?” All eyes fall on him at Dáin’s question, and his penchant for story telling takes over.

“Well, hobbits can be very quiet when they want to be, and orcs are very thick. They failed to see me sneak past them, and I found Azog by himself just as he set his awful beast on a messenger that must have carried some rather bad news. I hid behind some debris but his warg’s keen nose sniffed me out. When it charged me I raised Sting and it impaled itself.”

More dwarrow have joined to listen to the hobbit’s story, including the rest of the Company. They all gape at him in disbelief.

“You killed Azog’s white warg?” Glóin splutters.

“I never knew you had it in you, master Boggins!”

Dáin shushes them, gesturing for him to continue, “What then?” He asks like an eager fauntling.

“Azog heard the commotion and chased me. I thought I lost him in the tunnels but he cut me off and pinned me down. I was about to be skewered when Thorin attacked him out of nowhere,” He grins at the King, “Azog couldn’t get a hit in. The only reason he didn’t die then was because Bolg and his army arrived. We had to fight them off, but at least the pale orc took a tumble so he couldn’t catch us off guard.”

“Bilbo pushed him down a hill.”

“I did not! His legs gave out and he fell.”

“You were the one that caused his legs to give way.”

“. . . Ahem. Anyhow, we had a moment of quiet after the first wave of Bolg’s orcs, but as we were making a break for freedom, Azog comes out of nowhere and slams me into Thorin. We go flying out onto the ice and he orders his party to finish us off, but before they can get to us, Legolas puts an arrow in the first one’s scull.”

At the mention of the elf most of his listeners scowl or shake their heads, making him bristle. Bilbo rests his hands on his hips and gives his best stern glare.

“Thorin and I would have been overwhelmed if it weren’t for him, and the battle would not have been won without the elves. You will give him the respect he deserves otherwise I end the tale here!” He reprimands. The dwarrow guiltily shuffle their feet and offer up apologies, pleading for him to continue. Gandalf chuckles around his pipe.

“Alright then. As I was saying, Legolas shot them from above while Thorin and I fought on the ground—“

“It was going well until an orc threw me towards the cliff edge.” Thorin interrupts.

“It was exceptionally large. I tried to distract it but it threw me into a wall and I blacked out.”

The King’s expression darkens, “I do believe it regretted that. When you failed to rise, I thought—“ he clears his throat then continues. “When I was sure you were alright, I prepared to take you back down to Erebor but Azog chose then to show himself. I had no choice but to fight my way out.”

Bilbo listens intently, he hasn’t heard this part. Thorin had been moved to his chambers and the hobbit to his; they haven’t had a chance to discuss the battle until now.

“He used a block of stone as a flail, but it was heavy and predictable. He smashed a circle in the ice around himself, all I had to do was step back and he fell beneath the surface. I should have left him then, might have saved myself some trouble,” he gestures to his foot, “but I followed him as the current swept him towards the waterfall. I thought he was dead, but I was wrong. He stabbed my foot through the ice then broke through and pinned me down. I only just managed to raise my sword to hold him off.”

This part, Bilbo remembers. He regained consciousness in time to see Thorin jam Orcrist between two spikes of Azog’s blade. He had scrambled to find Sting, heart pounding. Somehow he managed to get a firm grip on the little sword, then charged across the ice. Without a sound he had grit his teeth and plunged it into the orc, revelling in the gasp that escaped the foul things throat. He also remembers Thorin’s face.

“I had just come to terms with the fact I was going to die when Azog started choking and spluttering above me. I looked down to see master Baggins’ sword sticking out from between his chest plates.” The crowd around them cheers, Dáin slaps the hobbit’s shoulder, nearly sending him sprawling. After the noise dies down, the King concludes, “and that’s how the burglar not only defeated my sworn enemy, but saved my life in the process. The battle was won.”

Thorin’s eyes meet his knowingly as their listeners cry their admiration and Bilbo’s face heats. He finds himself grinning shyly, surprised and delighted when a blush colours his dwarf’s cheeks. Some parts of the story will remain between them.

His gaze flicks to the Company; finding more than a few of them to be looking between the two of them with matching smirks, Bofur even giving him a suggestive wink. All the hobbit can do is open and close his mouth indignantly.

“Well, master hobbit. It would seem we owe ya our thanks fer keepin’ this daft idiot alive. Should ya ever wish to visit the Iron Hills you’ll be welcomed with open arms.”

“Thank you, my Lord. Does this mean you plan on leaving?”

“Not till we help clean the place up a bit. Besides, we can’t leave the lot of ya here by yaselves!”

“I sent a raven to the Blue Mountains. Dís will lead the rest of our people here but until then, we need the numbers just incase the orcs have another trick up their sleeves.” Thorin explains.

“Amad will love you, Bilbo! I can’t wait for you to meet the rest of the family.” Kíli beams.

Ignoring his churning gut, Bilbo smiles back. “Me too, Kíli.” He excuses himself politely, acting as natural as possible. The dwarrow continue to exchange tales of battle as he slips out of the hall, then he quickens his pace until he’s dashing through the mountain.

He somehow makes his way to the battlements, panting. There are guards posted on top of them, but Bilbo just slips past them and heads up onto the platform of the war horn. He tucks himself away in the shadowiest corner he can find, breathing the crisp air deeply.

Every day, he finds more and more reasons to stay in Erebor, but what about the Shire?

There has always been a Baggins living in Bag End, can he really leave his childhood home to be inhabited by the Sackville-Bagginses? What would his father say!

But then again, he knows exactly how the other hobbits reacted to his absence. He wonders if any of them even mourned his ‘passing’ at all.

The scuffling of boots on stone draws his attention, and he looks up to see Nori reach the top of the stairs. The thief says nothing, just drops in to sit next to him.

After a moment, Bilbo clears his throat, “Why did you follow me?”

“Ya looked too calm, somethin’ was off. Not ta mention ya booked it as soon as ya thought you were outta sight.”

“I suppose that was rather suspicious.”

“Care ta explain what’s got ya so jumpy?”

Bilbo sighs, mulling the words over in his head. Nori doesn’t press, he just waits patiently for the hobbit to speak.

“Do you ever miss the Blue Mountains?” He finally asks.

Nori gestures noncommittally with one hand, “Ehh, I spent most of me time avoiding tha place. I may’ve grown up there, but I’m not one ta settle down, ya know? Life on tha road’s more me style. Is that wha’ it is? Missin’ home?”

Bilbo tucks his knees up, shrugging, “Kind of? It’s more I can’t decide whether I am or not.”

Nori considers his words for a while, then points at his pocket. “How far into tha future did tha’ little trinket show ya? What did ya do last time?”

“Well, to be entirely honest, last time I was more inclined to leave than I am now. I suppose I can tell you all about it now the battle is over.”

“I’ve guessed a few things, but I’d like to know tha whole story.”

“Well, when it comes to the battle, a lot of Bard’s people were slain in Dale because they didn’t have the protection Erebor gave them this time around, but that wasn’t even the worst part. When Thorin led the charge to Raven hill, the boys— they went with him. They. . .” He chokes on the sentence, “They didn’t make it, neither did Thorin.”

The memories overwhelm him all of a sudden, now that he has a chance to think about the situation. He had only barely began to come to terms with the death of his friends when the Ring threw him back into reality. Watching three of his closest friends die in the most horrendous ways possible changed him forever, even if it was all in his head. He spent many sleepless nights on the journey home reliving the same three moments over and over; Fíli’s final word, screaming for them to run before being impaled by Azog, his lifeless body tossed carelessly off the edge and hitting the ground at his brother’s feet; the last time he saw Kíli alive as he dashed into the tunnels of Raven Hill for revenge, then finding a distraught elf crying over his body after tearing himself away from Thorin.

_Thorin._

When he recovered from Bolg’s attack and scrambled over the rocks to see Thorin standing on the edge of the frozen waterfall with the eagles tearing the rest of the army to shreds he truely believed it was all alright. They had lost Fíli but they would get through it together. Then Thorin fell and his heart stopped, then later it shattered as the dwarf’s last breath left his lips.

_It had all felt so real. . ._

Nori slips an arm around his shoulders and tugs him in. He didn’t even realise he was crying until then.

“Thorin’s fine, thanks ta you, and thalads are alright. They’re down there wrecking havoc, no doubt. You saved em, Bilbo.”

Squeezing his eyes shut against the tears, Bilbo leans into the comfort for a moment, then takes a deep breath and continues.

“I couldn’t stay in Erebor after that, so I left after the funeral. I woke up shortly after making it back to the Shire.”

“And where ya disappointed?”

“With what?”

“When ya woke up away from the Shire.”

“Well, no. The first thing I saw was Fíli’s face, and the last time I’d seen him alive was when Azog had him by the neck and the poor boy was begging us to run.” More tears roll down his cheeks, but he ignores them in favour of contemplation. “I was just incredibly happy to get a chance at saving them.”

“An’ how often ‘ave ya thought of returnin’ to ya hobbit hole since then?”

“Only recently really, since Gandalf mentioned it.”

“I think that tells you what really matters to ya, Bilbo.” The thief murmurs gently.

And what can he say to that?

-•-

Legolas stands between Tauriel and his father on a balcony in Dale overlooking the battlefield, the last dregs of the horn echoing between the rises on either side.

The elves and men stand together in a silent vigil for those lost in the battle while the dwarves (plus one hobbit, two wizards and a skin changer) gather within the mountain.

After a few long minutes, the people around them start to move away, returning to their duties. The three elves remain as they are, knowing what comes now that the funeral is over. The stillness drags on, eventually becoming unbearable. Thranduil is the first to speak up.

“Do you have enough provisions to last you until you reach the camp?”

“Yes father. You’re sure they will welcome me?”

“I am.”

“Do you have to leave so soon?” Tauriel asks, mouth set unhappily. Legolas sighs, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“I do. I cannot rest easy knowing there is more I could be doing out there. We will meet again soon, I promise.”

Tauriel stays quiet for a second longer, then gives him a weak smile, “I should hope so, my ale isn’t going to buy itself.”

“Oh dear, it seems suddenly I shall need to be away for much longer.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll still be waiting.”

“It was one measly point more! I refuse to believe you didn’t make it up.”

“I did not! I’m sure Kíli will vouch for me.”

“Oh yes, I’m sure the lovesick dwarf will be entirely unbiased in that settlement.”

She punches his arm, then her expression softens. “Take care of yourself out there, Legolas.”

“I will.”

He places a hand to his heart, then extends the same hand towards her, Tauriel mirroring the action.

He then turns to his father, only to be blown away by the affection in his gaze.

“You remind me so much of your mother, my son. She would be proud to see how much you’ve grown. She loved you, more than anything; more than life.”

Overwhelmed by emotion and not knowing how to respond, Legolas forgoes the appropriate gesture of farewell in favour of stepping forward and enveloping the surprised King in an embrace. After a beat, Thranduil tenderly returns it, and Legolas can’t help the smile tugging at his lips.

“Farewell, father.”

“Goodbye, Legolas.”

Pulling back to smile at his father and best friend one last time, the elf turns and ducks down the nearest staircase.

After finding his horse and making sure all his gear is secure, Legolas leaves the city of Dale and his friends behind.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, I’m so sorry this one is short, but I’ve been struggling to find time to write and I wanted to give you something at least! 
> 
> And with that, we say goodbye to Legolas :( I’m considering writing a spin-off fic of his journey but I’m not sure if that will ever happen, but if it does I’ll let y’all know :)
> 
> So now you know who won the bet! Did any of you call it?
> 
> Once again, thank you so much for reading and for your top level patience! I promise I will never abandon this fic, and if I do I’m probably dead. 
> 
> Much love until next time<3


End file.
